


Shades of Blue ~ Navy

by bluedawn



Series: Shades of Blue [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Multi-Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedawn/pseuds/bluedawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescued from the parallel universe by her Byronic hero, Rose thinks he's finally brought her back to "her Doctor" but instead is faced with another familiar face.  Can she help him through the aftermath of the Time War and forgive him for misleading her?  And can she keep herself from falling for him all over again? The second story in the "Past Present and Future" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nine I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose discovers that she's not where she thought she was going and struggles to take care of an immediate post-regeneration, post-Time War Nine. Confused about his feelings, consumed with guilt and struggling with the strange human in his console room, Nine does some things he might regret later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does have Aggressive!Nine, so if that's not your thing, beware. It is consensual.

She watched the TARDIS in front of her disappear and closed her eyes momentarily. It was hard to say good bye to him, especially knowing that he was headed for years of heartbreak alone and not to be able to help him now. He would find her eventually and she would help him then. But for now...

Rose took a deep breath. It was finally time. She was getting him back. Her Doctor, the one with the great hair and the gob. It was a comfort to prove to herself that she would love him no matter which face he wore. She was going to miss the posh accent, the light demeanor and even the velvet frock. And his extremely talented hands. She’d have to go about getting him to use those again, as soon as possible. She grinned cheekily to herself at that thought and pulled open the doors of the TARDIS. 

Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw inside. Instead of seeing the warm, welcoming natural hues of her familiar TARIDS, she took in broken and blackened wood, dirt, grime and ash; the charred remains of what had once clearly been the beautiful console room she had just left. Books littered the floor and the console was smashed almost beyond recognition.

She gasped and ran inside, trying to feel the TARDIS with her mind. Eventually Rose found a small tendril of golden thought that hummed a pitiful greeting to her, weak and pained. Dropping her pack by the door, she turned around on the spot, tears filling her eyes, taking in the destruction and trying to figure out what to do. Where was she? When was she? And where was he?

The TARDIS hummed weakly at her again, directing her attention to the back of the room. 

She cried out loud. Lying amid the rubble of the console room was a familiar figure dressed in familiar clothes although the two didn’t mesh very well. Her first Doctor, who she now understood to be the Ninth, was lying, battered, bruised and bleeding in the too-small, tattered remains of his previous incarnation’s clothes. He must have just regenerated. She shuddered looking at his injuries. If that’s what they looked like now...she couldn’t imagine what they had looked like before he regenerated.

She now understood when she was. The Time War had just ended and someone had to help the Doctor pick up the pieces. He had said that he needed her. She wouldn’t let him down.

The TARDIS nudged her mind again and showed her a picture of a small room with a bed and medical supplies. It was not an image of the all-too familiar MedBay and Rose sent a query out. The TARDIS apologetically indicated that she couldn’t support the entire MedBay or bring it closer in her own injured state. She had managed this small recovery room and pulled it right beside the console room, the door just behind the body of the Doctor. 

Carefully climbing over the rubble, Rose picked her way to the Doctor’s side and eyed the bed inside the next room. She had to get him there somehow. She didn’t think the TARDIS would ask her to move him if it wasn’t safe so she assumed that his spine would be all right. She cleared the wood fragments off his body and placed her arms through the loops of his shoulders from behind and pulled. 

She half-carried, half-dragged him into the room and somehow managed to get him up onto the bed. Panting with the effort (she had never realized how HEAVY he was in this form - all solid, long limbs), she sunk down on the floor next to the bed. Seeing him so injured, this him, the first one she had loved, was terrifying and overwhelming and she wanted nothing more than to have a good cry. 

No. She couldn’t do that now. She needed to be strong for him.

After catching her breath, she stood and examined the table next to the bed. The TARDIS had provided her with some antiseptic cleaning tools, bandages, a stack of those horrid energy bars and, to her surprise, a pair of mens tracksuit bottoms and a tshirt. 

Well, obviously he couldn’t stay in the bloody, torn remnants of his past life but that meant she was going to have to change him. She inclined her head and blushed a bit.

So what if she had seen the last version of him naked on several counts? This version of him wouldn’t remember it and he was her first Doctor...all moody and gruff and completely off limits. Theirs had been a surreptitious love, all hidden glances, tentative flirts and words with double meanings or at least it had been for her. She had never seen this him unclothed and, curious as she was (Shireen’s theories about blokes with big ears sprang, unbidden, to her mind), it felt like a line she shouldn’t cross. 

Still, it wouldn’t be the first time she had undressed him unconscious. She blushed a bit more at the memory and her confession of a snuck glance at his new bony, lanky body and Howard’s jimjams. That’s how she had known what kind of pants to buy him.

She was also having a hard time imagining him, any version of him, in something so docile as tracksuit bottoms. It seemed wrong. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and jeans and jumpers weren’t exactly good clothes for lying in a hospital bed. She sighed. Undressing it was.

She carefully removed his clothing, painfully aware of his injuries and trying not to jar him too much. She also tried very hard not to think of the last time she had removed these same pieces of clothing not too long ago (for her anyway) under much happier circumstances. Ignoring her curiosity and the small surge of her libido, she left his tight, black boxer-briefs on and she felt a pang as she recognized them as a pair she had bought for him. Buying pants for a man...height of domestic, that was. This him would hate it. 

Thanking her lucky stars that he had taught her about cleaning and bandaging during her time with him, she did her best to tend to the injuries on his legs, pulled the bottoms on him and continued the process on his torso, arms and face. Satisfied with her handiwork, she stepped into the loo the TARDIS had provided and washed his blood from her hands. 

She splashed some cold water over her face and stared at herself in the mirror. This was going to be difficult. What could she say to him when he woke up? He wouldn’t remember who she was, his Eighth self had told her as much and, in his damaged state, that could be very dangerous for both of them. It was hard to imagine him ever hurting her on purpose but even when she met the later version of this body, he had been moody and unpredictable and now so soon after the war... 

Well anyway, she didn’t think the TARDIS would allow him to do anything he would regret. She set her shoulders and walked back out to the console room, preparing to take care of his third heart (as she had heard him affectionately refer to the TARDIS) as she had the first two. With a tired murmur of suggestion from the ship, she started to clear away the rubble, making piles of debris and attempting to sort through the mess. Every now and then the TARDIS would hum an instruction at her or place a picture of an object in her mind. 

Rose lifted, cleaned and cleared until she could no longer stand from exhaustion. Her hands and back ached. She surveyed the room. It was progress but there was still so much to do. And much of it was a job she could not accomplish alone. She needed the Doctor. 

Glancing longingly back to where his familiar-yet-unfamiliar form laid unmoving in the bed, she briefly considered laying down with him, just to feel the comforting double beat of his hearts, the cool touch of his skin, the familiar smell of spice and Time...but if she was nervous about his general reaction to her being in the TARDIS, she couldn’t imagine what would happen if he woke up with her in his bed.

A small cot and pink duvet appeared beside her. It wasn’t much, but it would do. The TARDIS gave a small yellow whimper of apology and Rose gave the worn console a loving pat of appreciation. Without another thought, she fell back onto the cot and drifted into the dreamless slumber of exhaustion.

She continued this process for the next several days although how much time actually passed she wasn’t sure. As he had so often told her, there was no day and night in the TARDIS so her time was passed by clearing the console room, sleeping in the cot, eating the bland bars, and tending to the Doctor. Every now and then she rolled him over, changed his bandages, and washed his wounds. She marvelled at his healing rate, many of the bandages becoming unnecessary after her second “night” of sleep.

Sometimes when she felt too exhausted to clean but not tired enough to sleep, she would sit at his bedside, hold his hand and talk to him as if he could hear her. Slowly the TARDIS began to open up more rooms and Rose did her best to clear those as well. 

After what she reckoned was the third day, she was beginning to get scared for him. He hadn’t slept this long when he had regeneration sickness before. She even tried giving him some tea, to no avail. The TARDIS indicated that he would be fine without any other medical care, feeding tubes and such, and Rose was relieved that she wouldn’t have to do anything complicated like that but she was feeling restless, inadequate, and lonely. Why wouldn’t he wake up? Frustrated, she retired to her cot in the console room, preferring to be close to him and to the heart of the TARDIS rather than take one of the beds in a newly-reopened bedroom.  
______________________________________________________________________________

He awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. It was an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar room, unfamiliar clothes, and an unfamiliar him. Where was he? How had he gotten here? What happened?

Memories came crashing down around him and his battered mind rolled and boiled, trying to fend off the darkness of his immediate past. The fires, the screams, the burning, the smell of death all around...those caused by him and his own. The silence in his mind was maddening, unbearable. He cradled his unknown head in his new hands and futilely curled up into a ball until the torrent of thoughts abated, leaving him drained and gasping. 

The newly healed skin over his former wounds was itchy and he ripped at the bandages covering his arms and face. How had they gotten there? Someone had gotten him to this room, tended to his injuries, and changed his clothes. Someone was on his ship. He frantically reached out with his barely cooperating mind and found an unfamiliar, heavily shielded mind docile in the console room.

He lurched out of the bed, new, untried legs struggling to support his weight. They were much longer than he was used to and this body was heavier and more dense although still slim. It was no longer the physique of an elegant gentleman but now that of a hard soldier. This body ached and he suspected it always would...a physical reminder of the mental anguish he was experiencing...and that he had wrought on everyone else. It fit him. The Destroyer. The Oncoming Storm.

He staggered to the doorway, winded by the effort, and his tortured eyes swept over the battered remains of his third heart. The TARDIS hummed weakly at him, a greeting and a lament combined. His hearts clenched as he saw that she was just as damaged as he. How long had he been out? 

The room had been cleared up somewhat, piles of debris sorted neatly off to the side and much of the charred wood had been removed from the walls to reveal the organic, dimly lit coral structure underneath. 

He was instantly and illogically furious. The emotion came quickly and easily to this body, surging through him, spurring him to do something, anything, and replacing all other thoughts. How dare someone else touch his ship. His brave, beautiful ship. 

The TARDIS insistently prodded her mind and Rose reluctantly sat up on the cot. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep but it hadn’t been nearly enough. Why did she need to get up now? She turned her head slowly to the side and noticed the unsteady form of the Doctor leaning against the door frame into the console room, his eyes ghosting over the remains of his ship with slow, pained movements. He was awake! She wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and share her joy but the TARDIS immediately sent her a strong negative and gave her a frantic warning. He was not himself. She needed to be careful.

She lowered her feet to the ground and stood up slowly, not wanting to startle him. The slight sound of her feet hitting the floor caused him to snap his head to the side and his blazing eyes nailed her in place. She froze and held her breath, feeling like an animal caught in a trap with a dangerous predator advancing on her. 

“Who the hell are you?” he growled out in a harsh, Northern burr. The voice and the brashness of the words surprised him. The voice was rough and raw and again he felt that it fit, even if it was unexpected. He heaved his uncooperating body across the room to advance on the small, human-like female currently regarding him with large, unblinking eyes. The nose on this body seemed especially sensitive and he could smell her adrenaline and the slightly metallic scent of fear. 

When he was barely half a meter away he snarled again. “I said, who the hell are you? Answer me,” he demanded. She did not back away, simply stood and looked at him despite the smell of her fear.

“I’m a friend,” Rose said, finding her voice and somewhere the courage to look him straight in the eye. He was radiating pain and power and he seemed barely in control of himself. She flashed back to Utah...and even then she hadn’t been this frightened of him.

“I don’t have any friends. They’re all dead. Because of me. I killed them,” he growled. He wanted to threaten her, to frighten her away. Whoever, whatever she was, she shouldn’t be here. He would destroy her. He destroyed everything. 

“I know,” she said softly. She wanted to reach out and touch him, hold him and ease his pain but she knew she couldn’t. Not now. Not for a long time. So she merely stood and watched.

He stared back at her. She couldn’t know. Everyone that knew was dead. And she was just a human. A stupid little breakable, transient human where she didn’t belong. 

His mood swung to exhausted, defeated. “What d’you want?” he asked, suddenly very, very tired.

“I’m here to help,” she said, kindness and compassion radiating through her voice. He felt it leaking through the shields of her mind. He pushed it violently away. He couldn’t handle any mental contact. 

“Why?” he asked, sad and confused. He didn’t deserve help. He didn’t deserve kindness. He couldn’t handle compassion.

“Because you need me,” she said simply, as if that answered everything.

“I don’t need anyone. Certainly not some stupid ape,” he barked, anger rising again instantly, striking out at her verbally. To his surprise, she didn’t really react to the harsh name, just regarded him with sad, pitying eyes. 

He didn’t want her pity. He lashed out again. “Get out. Get the fuck out o’ my TARDIS. I don’t know who you are, I don’t care who you are and I don’t need you.” 

He stepped toward her violently, intending to grab her shoulders and force her out the doors when the grating beneath his foot rose up and tripped him, knocking his already shaky equilibrium and causing his new, unfamiliar body to fall, hard, to the ground.

The impact of hitting the ground jarred him enough for the memories that had been fighting their way past his barriers since he awoke to fully assail him once more and he whimpered and curled up in a ball again, tears streaming down his face.

She was by his side in an instant, sitting on the floor with her back to the console and pulling his head into her lap. He couldn’t move, immobilized by his own internal demons and was forced to accept her comfort, her incredible warmth. Her hands were on his head, her fingers massaging what felt like closely-shorn, bristley hair and slowly she began to work her way into his mind, offering her barriers as his, taking his pain as her own, providing a buffer between him and the raging torrent of his anguish. He clung to her, mentally and physically and then he was unconscious.

Rose was fighting desperately at the effort of holding back his memories. The TARDIS had abandoned her repairs to help Rose instead and the two of them worked in tandem like two pieces of the same puzzle patching up his shattered shields, mending one section as another broke, trying to offer him some relief. 

She was careful to stay on the outskirts, not to connect fully with his mind, knowing instinctively that it would overwhelm her. She could see the darkness roaring through him and what she had seen before as a bright, happy cerulean blue presence was instead a dark indigo, almost black. She could feel the TARDIS keeping a thin veil between their minds, protecting her from him just as she was protecting him from himself. 

Finally, their patchwork bulwark held and the TARDIS nudged her from his mind, indicating that she could sleep. She closed her eyes immediately and leaned more fully against the console, keeping her fingers laced in the short strands of his dark hair and letting his weight against her leg comfort her.

The Doctor slowly awoke, drifting back into consciousness pulled by the very uncomfortable position of his body. He was awkwardly curled up on the hard metal grating of the console room floor with his head in the lap of the strange human. He could tell from the sound of her slow breathing that she was asleep, could smell her exhaustion and he sat up slowly, carefully shaking her hands from his head.

He stood, rather unsteadily, and regarded the girl in front of him. Asleep against the console she looked so peaceful and innocent. Why was she here? He could only ruin her. She had said she was here to help him. He didn’t know her, didn’t recognize her even if she felt distantly familiar to him. How had she gotten here? He couldn’t remember much about the end of his past life and the beginning of this one but he certainly didn’t think he’d popped by 21st century Earth to go companion shopping before collapsing. 

And she had been in his head. He could feel the patches in his shields, shining bright and golden in the darkness of his mind. She shouldn’t have been able to do that.

There was no one else on the ship, so it must have been her who had cleared up the console room and helped him when he had been unconscious. And changed his clothes. He looked down at the tracksuit bottoms and tshirt. That would never do. He needed something to wear. He couldn’t understand or control the girl in the console room so he’d choose his new outfit. That was a decision he could make now, something he could control, something he could own. 

Striding purposefully to the wardrobe room, he pushed all thoughts of her to the back of his cluttered, tangled mind. He ran his fingers over the clothes as he walked by, the textures assaulting sensitive, new nerve endings. They glided over velvet, satin, and soft cotton and settled on rough denim. He pulled a pair of dark jeans from the rack. Those would do. His fingers resumed their quest and found the scratchy wool of a black jumper. No elegant waistcoats or unnecessary cravats with this body. Hard and utilitarian, that’s what he needed. Under the steps he found a pair of heavy black work boots. 

Quickly and silently, without his accustomed preening he pulled the clothes on. He didn’t look in the mirror when he was dressed. He couldn’t bear to see himself, couldn’t bear to look himself in the eye and see what he had become. He still felt incomplete, naked, unprotected and he was frustrated that he couldn’t find anything to assuage the feeling in the wardrobe room.

He stormed back out to the console room to find the human awake and sorting through a pile of wires. She lifted her head when he appeared and her eyes widened in surprise, taking in his new appearance. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it and simply watched him. He didn’t know what to say so he simply turned from her and began working on a separate pile of debris, discarding useless bits, and cannibalizing salvageable pieces. 

They worked in silence for the next few hours until his unused body began to protest at the exertion. He walked over, cleared off a spot on the pilot’s bench to sit down, and studied the back of the blonde human.

Rose felt his eyes on her back and turned to face him. The silence had been deafening to her but she hadn’t known how to breach it. 

“Who are you?” he asked for the third time, more kindly than he had before, perhaps because he was tired or perhaps because he had accepted her presence.

She considered her answer. Merely telling him she was a friend didn’t help the last time. Maybe if she gave him her name it would jog the memory of their time together. “Rose. Rose Tyler.” She watched his face for a flicker of recognition, anything that would tell her she could run to him and embrace him as she had wanted to do from the moment she found him. She received none.

“All right then, Rose Tyler. How’d you get here?” He was quite proud of his calm questioning. In this volatile body he wasn’t sure which way his emotions were going to swing next and he was relieved for this moment of placidity. The human was studying him very carefully as if she were waiting for something and weighing her words, choosing them with great deliberation.

Rose decided honesty was her best approach. This him had never been one to tolerate lying, even if he had excelled at it himself. She cleared her throat and took a step toward him. “You brought me here,” she said.

His head, which had been drifting down to his hands, whipped up. The analytical part of his brain noted that she had moved about a meter closer to him. “Rubbish. I don’t even know who you are.” For some reason, those words seemed to hurt her. He saw the pain flash in her eyes momentarily before she covered it up and took a breath. 

Rose tried to cover her momentary pang of sadness at his admission. She knew that had been a long shot but it had been worth trying to get out of this conversation. Life with him was so complicated.

“Not this you specifically,” she said, rubbing her temples and edging still closer to him. Tired as well, she wanted to sit down and wondered if he would let her sit next to him on the bench. There was plenty of room...she wouldn’t even be touching him, no matter how much she wanted to.

“You’re from my future, then?” he asked, wearily putting the pieces together, his eyes drifting to the unfamiliar red pack by the cot and noting again that she had moved closer. 

Past and future, Rose thought. However, she didn’t correct him. If her relationship with him in the future was complicated, her new one with his past was even more complicated. Telling him that he forgot her might harm his fragile ego and forcing him to remember, if she could even do that, might hurt his mind.

The Doctor knew he should look at her Timeline and confirm her story but using his Time sense was too painful. He could look in her memories but seeing that much of his future, if that’s where she came from, was dangerous and he wasn’t sure he could manage any sort of telepathic connection right now anyway. Being in her mind would be dangerous for her and dangerous for him. 

And at the moment, he didn’t want to accept that he had a future, that he would ever be more than the hollow shell of a man he felt like right now.

“How can I possibly have a future?” he asked, with his head in his hands, sounding so battered, so hopeless that she swayed on the spot, wanting to reach out to him.

“It gets better. I promise,” she said softly, wishing so badly to touch him, to hold him, but merely settling for cocking her head to the side a bit. He looked up to see her studying him carefully and it felt as though she were seeing directly into his soul. It wasn’t fair, her seeing him like that when he literally had no idea who she was. 

The Doctor rocketed to his feet, angry again in an instant. Surprised at his unexpected movement, Rose scurried back from him. “Better?” he spat. “How can it possibly get better? I’ve lost everything!”

“Not everything,” she said in an even voice. 

“I have nothing!” he shouted. “No planet, no family, no future!”

“You have me,” she said, quietly. She was standing there by the console staring up at him with eyes so deep, so honest that he wanted desperately to believe her.

He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and something ancient and unfamiliar flared in his mind. He had just had everything taken away from him and suddenly he was filled with the primal urge to possess, to claim, to bind, and immediately what he wanted was her. He should be appalled at the thoughts coursing through his mind and at the way his biology was reacting, but this body was mercurial and now fixated.

“You’re mine?” he growled at her, his voice taking on a low, husky quality she thought she recognized and taking a step forward.

Rose watched him carefully. Just a second ago he had been shouting at her and now he was randy? She was fairly certain that he had just growled at her. And there was no mistaking the intent of his eyes; they were dark black pools of desire with only a glimpse of blue around the edge. 

She felt a flash of longing, remembering the last time he looked at her like that. She saw him sniff the air and remembered what he had told her about the pheromones she gave off when she wanted him. There was something new in his icy blue eyes, however. A hint of predator, a tinge of madness, perhaps. He took another step toward her and she automatically retreated from him, hitting her back against the exposed coral wall.

“Answer me,” he commanded, advancing until he was right in front of her, bending so his face was inches from hers. Rose told herself that she should absolutely not be turned on by his aggressive, demanding behavior but she flushed again as her eyes moved down from his dark pupils to his lips, her tongue flicking out to wet her own before she looked back up at him. His nostrils flared again as he breathed in deep and he closed his eyes. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, whether it was seeing him, this him, actually wanting her or if it was the remnants of the connection she had shared with his past or something deeper, something new, but she wanted him. She was almost quivering with need for him and he hadn’t even touched her yet. 

“Yes,” she whispered to him, letting the word hang in the scant few inches that separated their bodies. He was much taller than his predecessor, no longer at the perfect kissing height and so when he surged forward suddenly, unexpectedly pinning her against the wall, his need pressed insistently against her stomach instead of her thigh. 

“Didn’t quite hear you, going to have to repeat it,” he murmured gravelly in her ear, letting his tongue dart in and grinding against her, causing her to jerk against him. Her body was so hot even through the fabric of her clothes, it was warming him, as the gorgeous, overwhelming scent of her surrounded him, clouding his senses further. He pushed his knee between her legs.

“Yes!” she cried, louder this time, her voice filled with filthy promise, grinding against his leg. She reached up and grabbed his large-feeling ears, pulling his mouth to her own. He met her with bruising force, taking complete control, plundering her blazing mouth with his, using his cool tongue to forcefully explore every inch of her available to him. There was no thought here. He was running on instinct, instinct he shouldn’t have, instinct that had been buried away in centuries of Time Lord restraint.

He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Time Lords didn’t growl, didn’t grind, didn’t lust and certainly didn’t know exactly how to make random humans aroused. But he seemed to know precisely what to do with his tongue to elicit gorgeous noises from her and very shortly she was using her hands to do the same to him. He was missing something important here but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too far gone.

Enough games. He reached between them to undo the closure on his jeans, releasing his straining erection, glad that he hadn’t bothered finding any pants as she toed off her trainers and then he reached out to fiercely repeat the action on her, dragging off her own jeans and knickers. 

Moving his hands around to her bum, he lifted her off the floor and she obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist. Without preamble or warning, the Doctor grunted something in Gallifreyan the TARDIS didn’t translate and thrust into her forcefully, as though he were burying his anger, his pain, his loneliness between her thighs, rippling automatically.

Rose cried out in pained surprise at the sudden aggressiveness of his entrance, trying to adjust to his size. “You, you’re bigger,” she panted to him. They both cried out again as he rippled, spurred by her words. How could she...unless they’d already...he tried to think, to work his way through her sentence but the feel of her around him, slick and smooth and the overwhelming smell of her arousal were replacing all his coherent efforts.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He growled in frustration. And then she raised her hips against his and did something completely unfamiliar to him, making him grunt into her hot mouth, a distant memory pulling at him. "More," she whispered. He buried his head in her hair and breathed in deep, the smell of her driving him mad. 

The primal urge he had felt before took control again and suddenly he was pounding into her, ancient instinct overtaking him, shouting the same word again and again, working desperately toward release, in and out, in and out, rippling more powerfully than he had thought possible. He didn’t know what she needed and he hoped he wasn’t hurting her, because some utterly terrifying part of him didn’t think he could stop even if he was. With a raging possessiveness, he was claiming her, branding her, making her irrevocably his . He had nothing left in this universe but she would be his and only his. 

He was close, so close. Before he could stop himself, the Doctor worked his way into her mind, past her defenses and burned the Gallifreyan word in her mind, accompanying the action with a feral bite to the junction of her shoulder and neck and clinging to her, fiercely nipping and sucking to accompany the powerful hurricane of his release marking her for all to see.

His bite sent her over the edge and Rose cried out at the sensations all around her, of him exploding in her mind and in her body, her world shattering into a thousand brilliant pieces as she followed him. They stood there, panting, as the world struggled to right itself, locked together at the waist, chests heaving. 

Some unknown part of her had clicked together with whatever he had just done and she knew something important had just happened but she didn’t know what and couldn’t ask him yet, couldn’t seem to manage any words.

The mood shifted suddenly and the Doctor retreated from her, both mind and body, as though he had been burned. She slid down the wall unexpectedly and he righted his trousers, staring down at her with something akin to shock. That was not the look she was hoping to see. Not at all.

He staggered back from her. What had he just done? Here he was, last of the Time Lords, having just done something that no Time Lord in his right mind ever would have considered. Some way to uphold the legacy of his people, throwing all their beliefs out the window in the face of tiny little human, letting his base desires control his actions. Of course, he had never cared about their traditions, their customs before...why should he start caring now? 

He knew why. Knew with a certainty that burned in his mind, slowly eroding the narrow foothold he was keeping on his sanity. 

Because they were gone. All gone. 

Because of him. 

Maybe he wasn’t in his right mind.

And even more than that, whoever this girl from his future was, he had taken her trust in him and just...claimed her, permanently branded her. Without even asking. She had wanted him, that much was clear, but she wouldn’t understand the significance of what they had just done. In fact, he wasn’t sure he understood it himself. 

He hated the universe for doing this to him. But more than that, he hated himself.

And so, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door to the small MedBay shut behind him and collapsing on the bed. He crammed one of the energy bars in his mouth without really tasting it. This new stomach was unsettled and in as much turmoil as his mind but he needed to eat something, superior biology or not. He hadn’t eaten in days. 

He was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally, and he wanted nothing more then to fall asleep and never wake up again. Why did he need so much sleep? He’d never slept this much before. Of course, if he slept now and didn’t wake up, then he wouldn’t have to face the human. Or the TARDIS. Or the Time Lord-less universe. That seemed like a good idea. He fell back on the bed and let the nightmares consume him.


	2. Nine II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose helps the Doctor through his mental anguish but at what cost to herself? And can he get out of his own way to be happy?
> 
> Bit of a short chapter...and don't worry. He gets his slap.

Rose stared after him in dismay. She had no idea how to process what had just happened. He’d just...and then he’d...well, fine. If he wanted to go brood off on his own he could. That was certainly familiar to her.

She was trying to be patient, trying to be compassionate but he had just made some serious love to her and then looked at her as if she were the most horrifying alien in the universe. Maybe to him right now she was. To say her feelings were hurt was an understatement.

Wincing, she stood up and collected her clothing. A shower and back to bed again, then. Maybe when she woke he would be willing to speak to her, at least long enough for her to convince him to take her where she belonged, to her Doctor. To where he had been trying to take her in the first place. 

Hadn’t he?

As she let the warm water cascade down on her body, relaxing muscles and soothing the bruises that she was sure were forming, she considered her good-bye to his Eighth form. He had been acting a bit shifty and strange but she had accounted that to his premonition of trouble for the Time Lords and perhaps a bit because he was being separated from her. She recalled his words, his expression, his desperate kiss.

“I wish there was some way I could help”  
“You will. I’m sure you will, Rose.”

“Go on, get in there. I need you.” 

The world tipped again as Rose realized the meaning behind his words and she leaned heavily against the damp wall. Furious at him, she climbed out of the shower and began to redress in clothes from her bag, flinching a bit at the action. She was going to be sore. 

He had brought her here on purpose. Lied to her. Messed with the future. Risked everything they would have, everything familiar to her and for what? So he could yell at her, take her against the wall and then abandon her in the console room?

Except, said a niggling little voice in the back of her mind or perhaps it was the TARDIS (it was hard to tell sometimes), except...maybe this wasn’t messing with the future at all. Maybe it just her discovery of the past.

One night shortly after he had regenerated and they were fumbling through their new rapport, through his new-found rambling and her uncertain shyness, in a brief, uncharacteristic moment of revelation he had told her that he didn’t know how he had survived immediately after the War. Told her that he had wanted to die. Really die. That he’d tried to die. He seemed mystified that anything had been able to bring him back from the brink of destruction on which he had been poised.

Maybe, just maybe...

Suddenly she heard a strangled cry emerge from the small recovery room. She ripped open the door to find him thrashing around the small bed, clearly in the throes of a terrible nightmare. Her anger with him evaporated in a second and she rushed to his side. The TARDIS shouted a warning to her but it was too late, she had already reached a shaking hand out to soothe the sweat from his tortured brow and Rose suddenly found herself thrown full force into the chaotic maelstrom of his mind. Her body pitched forward onto the bed but she took no notice.

In the pitch black of his swirling mind, for a time Rose lost herself. Everything that surrounded her was pain and darkness. His pain. His darkness. She could smell the burning of hundreds of souls, feel the agony of the dying planet, experience the numbness of a silent mind where millions of telepaths once resided and knew that it was her fault. She was him and he was nothing. For a time, neither of them existed.

It was the sound of the TARDIS that pulled her back, a desperate, determined, familiar melody. Slowly she listened to the distant song and began to pull herself together once more, building her shields up so she was a blazing pinkish golden presence, a variation of the TARDIS gold that at once flew to her in his darkened mind. Together once again, she gathered her thoughts and tried to examine his mind around her. What had once been welcoming, neatly filed and organized was now carelessly and aggressively chaotic and he would soon give in to the darkness. He had given up. 

Well, she hadn’t.

What was she supposed to do now? The TARDIS nudged her with a flash of blue, showing her what she needed to do. What only she could do.

She set out on a quest through the nebulous, murky caverns of his mind, searching for the man he used to be, the man she needed to help him become again. 

After what seemed like an eternity she found it. A small faint memory of cerulean blue that had been hidden away in the back, locked in a golden box, untouched by the darkness. She surrounded it with her own presence, protecting it, cupping it as one would do with the tentative flame of a candle in the wind and slowly, ever so slowly, it grew. 

It grew and calmed the bedlam of his mind, giving order to chaos and using her to light the darkness. Slowly, in Rose’s eyes, the Doctor’s mind changed colours from the eerily dark indigo to a rich navy. Sadly, she realized he might never again manage the happy, carefree blue of his past but at least he was no longer threatened by the inky blackness. Satisfied that her job was complete, Rose retreated from his mind and collapsed in exhaustion back into her own, letting sleep take her. 

______________________________________________________________________________

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open. There was an unfamiliar weight on his chest and he scrambled to sit up, the limp form of Rose Tyler falling heavily onto the bed beside him. A shaking hand reached out and tears sprang to his eyes as he looked down on her and remembered. 

He remembered meeting her. He remembered laughing with her. He remembered dancing with her. He remembered caring for her. He remembered selfishly and deliberately bringing her here, misleading her, manipulating her instead of taking her where she had been expecting. Mickey Smith had been right. He was a selfish git.

He had known that he would need her and oh, how he had. She had tended to him and to the TARDIS, cared for him, comforted him, consoled him and, most amazingly, brought him back from the darkness of his own mind. 

And what had he done? Threatened her, yelled at her, hurt her, abandoned her and now...he looked down at her too-still, barely breathing form, the shadow of his mark rising on her shoulder, marring her pale, too-pale, skin. 

He cradled her to his chest, whispering to her, letting his tears splash freely onto her beautiful golden hair. His dear, sweet, precious Rose.

His? He had never called her that before. Oh well, it wasn’t important. She was his and she couldn’t leave him now. He told her so. 

He prayed to deities he had never believed in, begged fates he had always ignored not to have her taken from him. The Time War hadn’t killed him but this would, losing her now. She was the one thing in the universe besides the TARDIS that he owned. 

Owned? There insane possessiveness was again.

Time seemed to stop as he clutched her to him, rocking her back and forth, imploring her, begging her, beseeching her to come back, to open her eyes and flash him even a glimpse of her brilliant smile. 

The TARDIS nudged him from his grief, showing him a picture of the full MedBay. He pushed her contact aside, too caught up in his melancholy to notice until she prodded him harder and showed him again. Was he a doctor or wasn’t he? Rose’s breathing wasn’t regulating. That was something he could do, something he could fix. He lifted his precious cargo and strode to the newly re-opened MedBay with a purpose, with a goal, with something to work toward for the first time since he had regenerated. 

Seeing her body lie motionless on the cold, hard bed tugged at his hearts and nearly broke him again. He needed to be detached and doctor-ly. This wasn’t Rose, his dear saviour, his light in the darkness, his lo-...no. It was a patient, a patient that needed fixed. But every time he looked at her, brushed her soft, damp hair with his fingertips, took in a deep breath and smelled her shampoo, eyed her pale, unmoving lips, his resolve cracked a little more and the dam of his emotions threatened to break.

Finally he connected her with an oxygen mask and an IV and she looked so pale and weak and unlike herself that he wept again. He had taken the strong, fiery, charismatic girl who had crashed into him in zeppelin-filled London and turned her into this. 

He had destroyed her, just as he thought he would.

“My beautiful Rose. Please, forgive me?” he pleaded, taking her hand and willing her eyes to open. Whether he was begging for forgiveness for what he’d done to her, what he’d done to his people or what he’d done to himself, he wasn’t sure but he knew without a doubt that he needed it.

Far away, she could hear the Doctor’s voice speaking to her. He was asking her something. For what? For forgiveness? She would always forgive him. She loved him. She tried to answer but she was too tired. He sounded so distraught. That’s not what she wanted. She needed him to be happy. She tried to tell him so but the words died in her throat, her eyelids too heavy to open. 

Stoically, he used the dermal regenerator to mend the hand shaped bruises on her hip bones and thighs, evidence of their passionate romp in the console room but couldn’t bring himself, even in his shame, to remove the brand on her shoulder. It marked her as his and he needed that, needed her to be his.

He sat there, staring at her, a silent sentinel, her tiny hand clasped in his, unfamiliar long, rough and callused fingers entwined with her smooth, slender ones. After four hours, her breathing began to even out and he gently removed the mask although he left the IV, just in case. She should wake up now. There was no physical reason for her not to, only the horrible threat of the mental damage he might of done, damage that he was too afraid to examine.

“Oh, Rose. Forgive me. Please,” he begged again. He squeezed her hand and lowered his forehead to the edge of the bed. It hurt too much to look at her. When he received a small squeeze in return, he shot from his seat, knocking over the chair on which he had been sitting and causing her medical monitor to screech at him as he bumped the IV with his too-long limbs but never letting go of her hand. He couldn’t let go. Not now. Not ever. He watched as she slowly opened her eyes.

“Sometimes all you have to do is ask a second time,” she said, a slow smile spreading over her face. He stared at her in wonder and automatically bent his lips to capture that beautiful smile, the one he had been afraid never to see again, especially pointed at him. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. As if she could sense his thoughts, she used her left hand to tug him down so she could nuzzle his neck, pressing a light kiss on his jaw. “I forgive you. I love you.”

He said nothing and she pulled back to look at him. He was staring at her as though he expected her to disappear any second. Disappear and leave him alone, so very alone. There was frightening depth in his incredibly blue eyes and in that moment Rose thought he had never looked more alien. She loved him even more for it. 

Rose held his gaze as long as possible, thinking somewhere along the line his superior biology must have negated his need to blink. Finally, the persistent itch bothering her right wrist made her glance down at the IV trailing off the bed. She turned the wrist over, flipping his hand with hers. “Can you take this out, Doctor? I’m all righ’ now, yeah?” she asked him. Physically she felt fine, if a bit achy, but mentally she felt incredibly tired as if she’d been doing very difficult maths for hours.

He slowly tore his eyes from her face, from his task of memorizing every single atom of her existence, to look down at the IV. She was healthy, as far as he could tell but part of him screamed not to take it out and filled his overactive mind with horrible what-if’s. Frowning slightly at his hesitation, Rose tugged at the IV herself and he immediately, fiercely grabbed at her hand. 

“Don’t touch that!” he snarled, snatching her hand away with his free one and painfully tightening his grip on the other. “Stupid ape. You don’t know what you’re doing. You could...” he trailed off at the startled, hurt expression her face. What was wrong with him? He’d only wanted to keep her from hurting herself and he’d lashed out at her again.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I...I can’t seem to control it,” he muttered, releasing her hands to remove the IV and avoiding her eyes again.

“Which part? Your mouth or your temper?” asked Rose, eyes slightly narrowed at him. Emotions fought within him...the temper of this volatile body wanted to lash back at her, his hearts wanted to apologize again, and his mind refused to participate.

“Either,” he finally conceded, letting the disused IV fall to the floor and leaning over her to switch off the machine. To his surprise, she grabbed him in a tight, slightly awkward embrace as he made to lean back. 

It was strange, Rose thought, to hug him and not feel the battered leather. There had been so few times while they were together that she had ever seen or touched him without his jacket. He seemed almost naked without it, even more naked than when she had undressed him earlier. She blushed suddenly, remembering the undressing bit and her hard-fought self-restraint.

He adjusted his arms around her slightly and relaxed against her, leaning into her body and breathing in deeply. Still getting accustomed to the quirks of this body, he sorted through the myriad of scents and could smell her shampoo, her detergent, her exhaustion. And the faint smell of her arousal. How could that be? How could she want him still? He heard her yawn over his shoulder and pulled back slightly to look at her.

“Silly humans. Sleeping your lives away,” he gently said, cupping the side of her face and trying not to think about how much of her ridiculously short life had already ticked by. The overwhelming fear of losing her surged through him again and he listened to her terrifyingly slow, single heart thud against his chest as he pulled her in tightly, fiercely again. He heard Rose gasp softly and he wanted to pull back, to look her in the eye and see what had caused her distress but that involved pulling back and he certainly didn’t want to do that.

Stronger than she had ever felt his shared emotions before, Rose felt the Doctor’s fear crash through her. It was as if he had suddenly opened the floodgates of his emotions to her and she could see them all. His grief, his loneliness, his guilt. His fear of losing her was foremost in his mind, almost bordering on madness, overwhelming in its complexity. She was his anchor and the thought of losing her threw him into confusion and chaos.

Rose pulled back from him to lay her head on the hard pillow and he brushed his lips against hers as she pulled away, almost as an afterthought, like he thought she might not let him. She closed her eyes momentarily. Sorting through his emotions as well as her own was tiring.

“Stay with me?” she asked, softly, motioning beside her in the small, medical bed.

“Not here,” he said gruffly, moving his arms to lift her from the bed and cradling her to him possessively as he walked from the room. This room was filled with too many memories of pain, of close calls, of dangers just narrowly avoided. How many times had he tended to companions and, at an alarming rate over the past few decades of the Time War, to himself in this sterile, unfeeling white room? 

Rose was about to protest, to tell him that she could walk by herself, but something in the back of her mind urged her not to. She took a closer look at his emotions and saw that this was what he needed now. He needed to prove to her that he was strong, capable and impressive. He needed her to need him. 

She could do that. She did, after all.

He kicked open an unfamiliar steel door and Rose looked around her. It was obviously his room and yet it wasn’t the elegant carved wood and rich burgundy bedding she remembered. 

“It’s different,” she said, looking around as he deposited her gently, so gently on the bed, taking in the hues of black and gray, the almost industrial look of the room The duvet the TARDIS had provided was a dark navy, matching the color of his mind almost perfectly. Rose wondered if the TARDIS had chosen it on purpose. A hum of confirmation buzzed through her mind and Rose smiled to herself. Of course she had.

“I’m different,” he responded, suddenly self-conscious. He had no idea what he looked like. Why should he assume she’d still want him? This body felt fit enough but it certainly didn’t strike him as particularly foxy or attractive. Last him had been quite dashing and she had liked it, liked his body then. But now...he could look like anything. He could be old. He felt old. He could be horribly scarred. He felt that, too.

Maybe she wouldn’t want him anymore. She had in the console room but that could have just been the temporary insanity on both their parts. And he hadn’t exactly given her a choice...No. He couldn’t think like that. She had wanted it, he could smell it, could feel it when he entered her. Must have been the insanity then.

Turning from her and struggling to decide what to do with his hands, he eventually settled for crossing them across his chest. That felt like a natural position.

He heard shifting and the slight rustle of fabric behind him as Rose burrowed under the duvet. “The TARDIS changes it when I regenerate,” he replied softly, looking around. This room was as unfamiliar to him as his new body. It occurred to him suddenly that Rose didn’t seem surprised at his appearance. Maybe, just maybe...

“Rose, do you know me?” he asked suddenly.

“Of course I do, silly,” she responded, looking quizzically at his turned back. Hadn’t they gone through this already?

“I mean this me. This body,” he said, his back still turned to her, pretending to heavily examine the exposed duct work on the nearest wall.

“Oh,” she said, softly. “Yes. I’ll meet you later in this body.” He exhaled softly. She had described this body positively to him back on Coricana. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. He had a sudden inexplicable urge to check out his arse and see if it was really as fantastic as she’d said. Of course he wasn’t exactly sure what the qualifications were for a “fantastic arse”.

“You’re my first Doctor,” Rose said just as quietly as before, possibly even more so. She sounded sad.

He turned slowly around to face her. “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?” she asked, cautiously. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was going and, really, all she wanted to do was take a nap. With him.

“ ‘My doctor’,” he repeated, blues eyes fixed on her, arms still crossed in such a familiar pose that she ached a little for him. No leather jacket, but still...she thought she’d never get to see him, this him, again and it caught up with her suddenly.

Tears pricked her eyes and she looked down to worry the duvet in her hands. “I dunno. Always have. You just...are,” she responded.

“Always have?” he prodded again. She was starting to cry. Why was she crying? 

Rose burrowed down further in the bed and mumbled her response. “Well, no. It started...I don’t know when it started. But he never complained about it,” she said, more than a little on purpose. He was doing his obnoxious, pry-into-things-Rose-didn’t-really-want-to-talk-about-and-draw-out-an-answer-she-didn’t-want-to-share thing, complete with piercing stare. Why did he have to ask her all these questions now? Couldn’t he see she was tired? Her head hurt and the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days was catching up with her.

“Who never complained about it?” he asked, his voice taking on a slight possessive growl that Rose seemed not to notice. Of course, that may have been why she phrased her last sentence as she had.

“Pinstriped you,” she responded, her answer lining up with the mental image he had of his future self, the one she had referred to most as “hers”, the one she clearly desired the most. A rush of jealousy surged through him, making him clench his hands into fists. Looking up at him with wide eyes, she felt remorseful. She shouldn’t have done that to him. She sighed deeply. “S’just the way it is. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The jealousy dissipated just as soon as it had arrived, replaced by disbelief. How could that be? He didn’t deserve her. He hadn’t before, he certainly didn’t now and probably wouldn’t in the future. And what right did she have to call him that? She had never claimed him, not officially, not in a way Gallifreyans would recognize. She couldn’t. Not that there were any Gallifreyans left to recognize it anyway. Oh...back to the circular guilt. He felt the darkness begin to wash around him again. 

The Doctor was still merely standing to the side of the bed, staring at her hard, making no move to join her or comfort her or do anything really besides stare. She sighed again and, in a small voice, asked, “Aren’t you?”

His first mistake was not responding automatically. His second mistake was not responding at all, caught up in his own musings and guilt. 

Rose turned from him and he watched as she closed off, like she had in the car the night they had first met, for him anyway. “I’m tired. Just go away,” she said wearily. He could feel her hurt threatening to bombard him through the link. He seemed hyper aware of her emotions now and they were just on the outside of his shields, more so than ever before if he would just let the walls down and examine them. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face any mental interaction with his mind raw and wild. Look what he had nearly done that last time.

Last him would have reveled in the strengthened connection, would have sat down on the bed, would have reached for her, drawn her to his chest and let himself comfort her, let her comfort him. This him hung his head and walked from the room, pretending not to hear her quiet tears.

He ran his long fingers over his face, pulling at the ears and running them through his short hair. What right did he have to offer her comfort or accept comfort from her? He could only hurt her more. And the “mine” and “yours” thing concerned him. It also desperately pleased him and, if anything, that concerned him more. He had a feeling it had to do with his action in the console room earlier, vague recollections of ancient history lessons on Gallifreyan mating rights coming to mind, but he’d have to find a book to confirm it and finding a particular book in this mess was not going to be an easy task. Plus he had more pressing concerns than the befuddling human in his room right now. Didn’t he?

He walked past the remains of the magnificent bookshelf that used to grace the console room and a book fell from the shelf at his feet. He glanced over toward the time rotor and it glowed at him, the TARDIS giving him her version of a raised eyebrow. He bent and picked up the book, expecting to see a dusty tome of Time Lord history. Instead, he saw the slightly garish and rather inappropriate cover of “An Interspecies Guide to Sex with a Human for Dummies”. Nice to know where the TARDIS stood on everything, then.

“Not gonna happen,” he muttered to the console. “Not after the way I treated her the last time. And the way I just treated her now.” In his defense, he had been completely overwhelmed with everything...no that wasn’t really a defense. His behavior had still been unacceptable. He wouldn’t blame Rose for not wanting him anymore.

The TARDIS nudged him to go back in, to go back to Rose. “I can’t. She’s mad at me.”

He felt what was probably a mental sigh from his timeship who then responded that Rose was hurt, not mad and really he should get in there if he wanted to salvage the situation. He didn’t answer her and didn’t move from his spot in the console room, glancing down at the book in his hands, thumbing absently through the pages and feeling a pang, seeing his last version of handwriting grace the margins, making Rose-specific comments.

The TARDIS sighed again and he was suddenly deluged with images, flashes of what had to be a younger Rose’s reactions throughout her time with him, always hurt, confused and pushed away by him in his angst and depression, never seeing his own face, just glimpses of a retreating, leather-cased arm or a turned back. Reaching out in pain because he needed her and couldn’t figure out how or why and then pushing her away, usually with hurtful words to keep her at bay in his panic. 

He reeled back from the connection. That’s how Rose saw him, this him? No wonder he had just hurt her, again. Acting just as she expected him to, but nothing like she wanted him to. She probably thought all their time together in his last body meant nothing to him now. And it didn’t. It meant everything.

And how did the TARDIS have access to all her memories? She clammed up at the question and closed herself off to him, merely commanding him back into the room again.

He sighed and turned back to his room, replacing the book on the shelf. Rose was deeply asleep when he entered and he briefly considered leaving her in peace but when he turned back to exit, he realized the door had disappeared and the TARDIS hummed at him in a superior fashion. She wasn’t going to let this go. He felt a flash of anger that his own ship was manipulating him but then Rose whimpered in her sleep and the anger dissipated immediately. 

“Daddy?” she whispered, tossing in her sleep. He reached out to her and she suddenly cried out “DOCTOR!” loud enough to wake a statue, thrashing around and almost clocking him in the face. He gathered her to him on instinct, pressing her into his chest and she clutched at the jumper, murmuring feverishly about churches and cold keys. He kissed her forehead automatically and suddenly she awoke, eyes darting around wildly, her breathing erratic and far too fast.

“Shh...it’s ok,” he cooed, in a soothing manner he would not have believed possible from this hard body. “I’m right here.” 

She pushed him away and he watched her, hurt at her rejection. He had assumed that when he decided to offer her comfort, she would take it, not push him away as he had seen flashes of himself doing in her memories.

“You were dead. You left me. AGAIN,” she said, almost venomously. “End of the earth. The church. Utah. Satellite Five. Scotland. France,” she said the last word dripping with accusation and unmasked hurt. There was France again, coming up to haunt him. Maybe he could leave a mental message to himself to avoid France in the future at all costs.

He considered his options. He could take her rejection at face value and get up and leave again, although the TARDIS made an angry mental noise at him and forcefully reminded him that the door wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Well, he hadn’t really wanted to do that anyway. He could offer her more words, not a strong suit of this body apparently however, as no loquacious apologies came to mind. Or he could show her.

He leaned forward and put his hands on either side of her head, careful to avoid her temples and kissed her, somewhere between the fierce claiming he had done earlier and the shy, tentative kiss in the MedBay. She relaxed bonelessly against him and began to return his kiss in earnest and then she suddenly pulled back and, to his enormous surprise, slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

He reeled back off the bed, barely catching himself before falling to the floor. “Rose! What the hell was that for?” 

“You...you can’t just storm back in here and kiss me!” she sputtered. 

“But I thought that’s what you wanted!” he exclaimed, raising his hand to his sore cheek. It was definitely going to bruise. Rose was quickly on her feet and they were squaring off against each other from opposite sides of the bed.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what WE want. About what WE are. I’ll not have you kissing me out of pity or whatever the hell that was for...to get yourself out of trouble,” she responded, narrowing her eyes at him, hands clenching by her sides. Oh, there was that familiar human-under-attack mode.

“On the contrary, Rose. I think you’ll find that kissing to get out of trouble is a very common ape procedure. I was just trying to stick with your cultural norms,” he said, getting ruder by the minute. This was not going to end well. “Humans seem to use just about anything for an excuse to have sex.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. This mouth was even worse than the last one.

“So that was the only reason that you kissed me!” she practically yelled at him. Oops...he had walked straight into that one. Her voice raised to an unnatural high and she continued, “And I am certainly not having any make-up sex with you. Not after the way you treated me the last time, you prick.”

“What? No! I just....” He tried back pedal, to get a word in edgewise but Rose had bristled and charged on over top of his ineffectual words.

“And an ape, am I? Oh, yeah, that’s a new one. Go ahead, mock my planet, my species, my mother, I’ve heard it all. Tell me how young I am, how stupid I am, how lucky I am to be traveling with you, impressive alien git that you are. Very original, that is.”

He was starting to deflate under her anger. Would he really say all of those things? He loved Earth, loved humans and loved...anyway. She wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Apparently his sensitivity and politeness had disappeared with this regeneration. No wonder she had told his last body she liked how kind he was. 

“And you know the worst part? I was happy to see you again. This you. Excited to steal a few more days with this body. I built the memory of you up in my head, remembering all the nice stuff about you and forgetting all the heartbreak you put me through. You’re a bastard,” she finished, crossing her arms across her chest.

“I know,” he sighed, defeated once again. How was he ever going to survive like this? 

Rose made a loud noise of frustration from the opposite side of the bed and he chanced a look back up at her face. “You’re so complicated! One minute I want to knock your block off and the next I want to kiss you.”

A little spring of hope welled up inside him. She still wanted to kiss him?

She sighed and settled back down on the bed, turning from him. “It’s all mixed signals with you and I am NOT reliving that. I’m going to lay down here and take a nap and you’re going to stay over there and think about what it is that you want. When I wake up, we can either work through this now or you can take me where you shoulda taken me in the first place and I suppose we’ll pretend like it never happened.”

With that, she got back under the duvet and turned her back to him, ending the conversation. She felt the bed depress slightly as he sat down on the other side, felt the confused, conflicted battle of his thoughts and resisted the urge to look deeper or to turn back to him. He needed time to brood and she needed to sleep.

She heard the slight thunk of his boots hitting the floor and moved to her back as she heard him settle against the headboard. There was a slight scrabble and she felt him patting the bed beside her until he found her hand on top of the covers, interlacing their fingers. They both sighed involuntarily at the contact then the lights in the room dimmed and she thought she heard the TARDIS humming in a satisfied manner before she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Nine III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose panics about their relationship, they play a little tag in a familiar beloved room and Nine lets go for at least a little while.

Several hours later the Doctor hadn’t moved from his position against the headboard although the warm creature next to him had. In her sleep, Rose had gradually gravitated to him until she was resting with her arm across his waist and her head against his hip. He could feel her drooling lightly there against the denim and suddenly he felt an unfamiliar pull in the muscles of this new face. 

Smiling. He was smiling. How long had it been since he smiled? And she was causing it, silly little human. Asleep. By drooling on him, of all things.

That small little pull of untried muscles decided his mind in a way four and a half hours of brooding had not. He would try his best to become the man she had once known. Together, perhaps, they could find the goodness in this fragile, battered mind and he would make the most of their time together. And then he would take her back to where she had wanted to go in the first place...where she had been expecting to go when his fearful Eighth body had brought her to the company of a madman instead.

The madman knew what he wanted. But would she?

Rose shifted slightly against him, pressing into his side and drifting her head down more so it was resting on his thigh. He moved the hand that had been trapped under her body to her back and tentatively brushed his fingers lightly over her spine, venturing an action that his last body would have found quite natural. He fought a wave of chemical reactions through his body as her hot breath ghosted over his thigh and down, fighting back his arousal. He needed to prove to her that he was willing to make this situation work for them, not for her to wake up to a randy Time Lord with a hard-on. She had made it quite clear that he was going to have to work for that level of intimacy again. He could accept that challenge. He was good at challenges. He would win her heart and her trust again.

Suddenly he felt her breathing shift and the hand on his opposite hip bone tightened, causing his own breathing to shift but for an entirely different reason. His hand on her back froze uncertainly and slowly but deliberately, Rose awoke and disentangled herself from him. He let the suddenly abandoned hand fall on the bed between them and Rose stretched and settled against the headboard next to him and close by and yet so far away.

She turned her head to him and met his nervous blue eyes. Studying him carefully, she thought through her options. Despite her bravado before falling asleep, she was afraid of what he might say and what it might mean for their future. If he gave into his fear and pushed her away, would it change their first encounter with the Autons? Would he even be inclined to go and find her? And what about her reunion with his Tenth form? Would this fight mar everything she had striven so hard to achieve for her future? For theirs?

Time to take the coward’s approach, then. Time to run away. That should be familiar enough to him.

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, turning from him and swinging her legs off the bed. “Well, I’m going to change then we should nip out and see what kind of help the TARDIS, needs, don’cha think?” she said briskly, not really pausing for an answer, just hustling out the newly-reappeared bedroom door.

His open-mouthed expression turned into a frown as he watched her retreating back. So much for talking about their feelings. Oh well. Why had he wanted to do that anyway? It was so domestic. Time Lords didn’t do domestic. He snorted and then turned to follow her out the doors to the console room and slowly, the walls that had so very briefly begun to crumble came flashing back up with a resounding clang. Mentally audible to both of them, the TARDIS made a frustrated noise that left the pair of them confused and vaguely annoyed, though with her or each other, they couldn’t tell.

Rose retreated into the loo with fresh clothes from her bag, trying to bat away the red thoughts of chastisement the TARDIS was choosing to bombard her with at the moment. When she emerged into the console room a short while later wearing a pair of black shorts and a tight pink t-shirt, she found the Doctor jammed under the console muttering to himself, long jean-clad legs sticking out haphazardly and large, booted feet resting on the grating above. Leaning on the doorframe, she was once again deluged with a wave of painful nostalgia for him. Followed by a long-forgotten naughty fantasy she used to entertain while watching him from the jump seat, a fantasy of straddling those trapped legs and “servicing” him while he was stuck there. Blushing wildly and now trying to ignore the wave of purple amusement from the TARDIS and the sound of the Doctor smacking his surprised head off something, she quickly turned away from the tantalizing sight of him and began to again remove charred wood from the walls.

Grateful that Rose couldn’t see his flushed (and now bruised) face or anything else that might indicate what he had just been thinking (that had been him, hadn’t it?) he tried to focus back on what he had been doing. A few deep breaths and some more carefully controlled biological dampeners and he was back to swearing fluently at the mess of machinery in front of him. This body seemed quite fond of colourful language even if the TARDIS wasn’t translating it. Part of him (probably a leftover remnant of his Byronic self) was glad Rose couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, although he was fairly certain it wasn’t too hard to guess the meaning.

The next few hours were filled only with the sounds of wires sparking, Rose’s shuffling and his quiet curses. Eventually, the comforting sounds of Rose moving around the room diminished to nothing and he emerged from the console stretching and cracking his back, stiff from the uncomfortable angle. His eyes swept over the silent room to find her missing.

He tried to hide the embarrassing well of panic that was surging through him at the possibility of her abandonment even though there was really nowhere she could have gone. He tried to convince himself that it was merely concern for her that he was striding at an unnaturally high pace through the halls of the TARDIS looking for her even though nothing in the ship would harm her. He tried to tell himself that he certainly didn’t need the comforting human noise of her presence to work peacefully in the console room.

He tried and he failed.

Finally the TARDIS seemed to take pity on him and pulled him toward a specific door. Without taking heed of which door he was opening, he wrenched the handle and barged in. Once inside, he sucked in a painful breath and tried to retreat out but, once again, the TARDIS had taken away his exit strategy. He stood with his eyes painfully screwed shut until the she nudged him gently, a small golden push. Opening them reluctantly he looked around at what had once been his favourite room in what was literally and what felt figuratively a lifetime ago.

The lush green grass and gentle, sunny warmth of the Butterfly Room spread out like a balm in front of him. He had, at one time, come here frequently to bask in the peace and tranquility. As the Time War raged through his life, however, it became too painful. Too much like a lie, too much of a comfort that he didn’t deserve. Why was she forcing him here now? Why?

A few brief tears graced his cheek and he slowly, hesitantly climbed the gently sloping hill in front of him. Once at the top, in the shade of a tree, he looked down toward the blazing artificial sun and saw Rose, silhouetted against the golden sky, arms outstretched, reveling in the touch of countless butterflies who seemed just as drawn to her as he himself was. Was there nothing in the universe that didn’t rejoice in her? Seeing her there, he was struck again with the bitter contrast between them, him standing alone in the shadows and her positioned firmly in the light surrounded by beauty. He sank to his knees, cradling his head in his hands so he was no longer subjected to this wry depiction of their incompatibility.

Lost once again in his melancholy, he jumped when he felt a soft touch to his shoulder. Lowering his hands and opening his eyes, he saw Rose standing in front of him, a gentle, concerned look on her face, with one hand resting on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” she said softly, reaching down with both of her hands to pull him into an upright position. Once he was standing, she dropped his hands and they stared at each other again, him down from his still-baffling new height and her up into painfully familiar sad blue eyes. 

“I know what you need,” she said suddenly, smiling at him brightly and holding out her hand, playfully waggling her fingers. He took it automatically but still stared at her, not sure what she was saying.

She held his glance for one more long, charged moment and then she whispered “Run!” taking off and yanking his arm, dragging him along with her so he had no choice but to follow. Together, hand in hand, they ran and ran over the soft green grass, boots and trainers falling in tempo with one another. After a few long increasingly breathless moments, Rose turned to jog backwards from him, still keeping a hold on his hand but transforming her flushed face into a mischievous smile. 

They stopped for a moment and she dropped his hand but before he could complain about the loss of her, she leaned in to kiss him on the tip of the nose, quickly. As he began reciprocate, to capture her lips, she whispered devilishly, “Tag! You’re it!” and then darted away in the opposite direction.

“Oi!” he yelled, the exclamation coming easily to this body and, growling, he chased after her. He caught up to her near a tree, grabbing her around the waist, scattering butterflies and pulling her in for a similar, although slightly less chaste drift of his lips over her ear before crowing “Tag!” back at her, once again using unfamiliar muscles pulled into a slightly maniacal feeling grin.

They continued their playful game for a few more rounds, the bouts between kisses growing shorter and the kisses growing longer until once Rose pulled away with his eyes still shut and momentarily disappeared. He prowled around a moment, looking for her, still caught in the game when suddenly a noise and unexpected contact to his back from behind a large tree caused him to whirl around and pin his sudden “attacker” to the ground with a blindingly fast, automatic, aggressive ferocity born out of forty-six years of war.

Panting and momentarily blinded by his animalistic, soldier-like instincts it took him a moment to realize that he was lying on top of a wide-eyed, fearful-smelling Rose, one large severe hand securing her arms above her head and the other wrist pressed up against her throat not dangerously but certainly threateningly. Horrified, he let go of her and scrambled as far away from her as he could, closing in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, head down. He couldn’t bear to look at her, to see that fear pointed at him, to see her horror.

What had he done now? He had been having fun. Fun! Him. And then he’d flipped out like some PTSD’d idiot. Like a dysfunctional human. Like a madman. He could have hurt her. He let out a strangled cry, trying to contain his anguish. What if he hadn’t come to his senses? Painfully, he remembered a flash of Peri’s similarly frightened face more lifetimes ago. What had he been thinking that he could overcome this, that he could interact with her like a normal person? That they could mend the inherent damage that was him. He curled in on himself further.

He felt her warmth come closer to him and recoiled away but instead of leaving, it came closer still. He felt a tentative hand reach out to his foot and flinched at the touch, making the hand retreat quickly. “I’m sorry,” a soft voice full of pain and compunction whispered, followed by the sound of legs untangling to stand up.

He raised his head to look at her, now towering over him and yet so far away, closed in on herself, tears on her cheeks. He risked a look at the emotions pressing in around his shields and saw with amazement they were not tears of fear but of remorse. She was sorry to have triggered that painful response in him. She was feeling guilty at hurting him. Him!

He wanted to yell at her, to tell her it was his fault not hers and that she was crazy to be anywhere near him but for once, this mind overruled his mouth and did what was best for him. Instead of yelling, he let go of his legs and reached out to her, inviting her to him in a tentative embrace. She fell on him immediately and then tensed, as if afraid it had been too much. Another new hurdle to overcome. 

He pulled her to his chest and they fell back in the grass. Her hands fisted in his jumper and he whispered his apology softly in her hair. After a few moments, she trailed her hands down his torso and, to his enormous surprise, under the hem of his jumper and undershirt to cling to him around his bare stomach.

“You’re sweaty,” she murmured into his chest, chin against the admittedly damp fabric of his jumper.

“So are you,” he retorted, letting his own hand drift briefly over the thin, slightly wet line of skin above her waist visible from her rucked up shirt and feeling her shiver slightly.

“S’normal for me though,” she said, raising her head to look at him, shifting so the top half of her was resting on the top half of him. “Thought you didn’t sweat.”

“I don’t. Or rather, I won’t. New body. Internal functions are still sorting themselves out. This body’s not sure what its internal temperature’s supposed t’be yet so it’s compensating in a more primal fashion,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oi! I thought you liked my ‘primal fashion’!” she said, thumping him lightly on the chest and letting her tongue peek out the corner of her mouth. Maybe they would be all right after all.

“I do like it. On you,” he said. “But for me...ugh,” he said, letting one hand raise the jumper to his sensitive nose, not that he really needed to. He could smell it from where he was. Could analyze every hormone, every chemical coming from both him and her with this perceptive nose. And the hormones coming off her were a surprising and intoxicating cocktail he was almost afraid to believe.

Rose shifted once again, pulling her hands out from under his shirt and laying them on his chest over his hearts. She considered him seriously for a minute and then seemed to decide something internally. If he wanted to, he could probably find out but his telepathy was still raw and a bit wild and he was afraid of hurting her even more.

Once again, Rose stood and offered him her hand. “C’mon then,” she said, pulling him (albeit not very successfully) to his feet. He was a bit too tall and a bit too heavy for her to really do it, but he like seeing her try, liked the way he fell into her when she pulled a bit too hard.

“Where’re we going now?” he asked, letting her drag him through the Butterfly Room toward the door. This body didn't like being dragged places, it liked being in charge, being in control. But for Rose...control. He could give her a bit of control.

“Well, since you’re unfamiliar with the ‘primal’ nature of your biological reaction, I thought you might not know how we inferior lower species deal with such an inconvenience,” she said with no hint of offense. Instead, there was some other meaning lurking beneath the surface of her words but he, for the lives of him, couldn’t figure out what it was. Although he was finding himself rather turned on by her scientific-sounding explanation, even if she was making fun of him a bit.

“And that would be what, exactly?” he asked, still letting her lead the way through the halls of the TARDIS, unsure of their eventual destination. He found himself being taken through the steel door of his bedroom and his hearts began to speed up, desperately hoping he wasn’t misconstruing this.

She finally turned to face him, dropping his hand and looking him right in the eye. “We take showers,” she said pointedly, marching into the large ensuite attached and gracefully peeling off her shirt, dropping it behind her as she went, leaving a once again open-mouthed Doctor staring after her retreating and increasingly less-clothed form.

By the time he could move once again and had followed her into the bathroom, she had turned on the shower, steam rising from the warm water and was patiently (and nakedly) waiting for him. He merely stared at her (he seemed to do that a lot nowadays), dry-mouthed and gaping as she stood, completely unabashed in front of him. At least, unabashed for a few moments. Then a delightful blush began to creep over her, starting with her cheeks and flushing downward under his intent gaze.

He had never seen her like this, bared to him, not with these eyes. The first time had been fast and brutal...and he hadn’t gotten a chance to see her properly...hadn’t taken the time to look. He was taking the time now.

Oh, how he had missed her. Missed her and not known that he was missing her. Felt the empty place in his hearts where she should have been.

To break the silence, Rose suddenly asked, “Where’s the mirror in here?” 

He turned his head, surprised, to look at the blank wall above the sink. “I asked the TARDIS not to have one. Didn’t wanna know what I looked like,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, softly, moving toward him and putting her hands on the hem of his shirt. “Is this ok?” she asked, looking up at him with worried eyes. How could she possibly be worried? He obediently raised his arms to help her and she pulled his jumper and undershirt off over his head. However, he stopped her when she reached for his belt. 

“I’ll get it. You go ahead,” he said. She cocked her head to the side but didn’t argue, climbing into the steaming shower. He took a moment to get himself slightly back under control from seeing her bare form before removing his boots, socks and jeans. He really needed to start wearing pants. 

While Rose splashed around the shower, he took a surreptitious look down at his body. It seemed acceptable enough and, for the first time, he wished he could see it all for himself, to know what she was seeing. But then, he knew what he would see. A broken, scarred warrior. A killer. A coward who could never deserve her. He turned back to the shower without another look down.

The gorgeous woman already there moved in the large shower beside him and for a while, they simply let the warm water cascade down on them together, washing away their hurts and cares, simply being near one another, not daring to touch each other and break the peaceful moment. Eventually, Rose moved to stand behind him, letting his body block the water and reaching out a tentative, soapy hand to caress his back. He melted at her feather-light touch then he felt her lean in close and press her lips gently to his spine, causing an involuntary shiver to shoot from his shoulders to his knees.

“Since you don’t know what this body looks like yet, how about I describe it to you, yeah?” Rose whispered tentatively against his skin, still with light touches so different from the frantic grapple of their earlier coupling, still a little afraid of his reaction from the Butterfly Room. When he didn’t respond, she continued, letting her fingers apply a little more pressure to the tense muscles of his back, “Just relax and let me do this.”

Control, again. He took a deep breath. He could do this.

Slowly he nodded his head and felt her shift to kneel behind him. He stood stock still and felt her reach out with slick hands to caress his feet and ankles. “Big feet with long, graceful toes that you almost always keep hidden in your boots which is good ‘cause you’re always dropping spanners and things on top of ‘em. Learned a good many alien curse words from you like that.” He could feel and hear the affectionate smile in her voice and let it fall down around him, soothing like the warm water. 

“Strong ankles leading into well-toned calves, probably from all that running.” She re-soaped her hands and spent a few moments caressing each calf with concentrated movements that he might have expected more for a different portion of his anatomy, which, for its part was working desperately to make itself known.

“Bit knobby knees,” she said, pressing a kiss to the back of each, making him moan softly like the man he used to be. “And muscular thighs, so tight and sturdy.” With that, she ran her hands up the backs of them, following the path with her tongue and then tracing her fingernails lightly over the insides, making him press his eyes shut. He heard her stand up behind him but her hands stayed on his thighs drifting up them eventually to tightly grasp his bum, kneading the muscles there and nearly turning him into jelly on the spot. 

“Mmm...one of my favourite spots, but you already knew that. Fantastic arse. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to do this. How many times I sat on that pilot’s bench looking at those tight jeans, just imagining what it would be like to touch you, to get to do this.” He made another involuntary noise and realized that he was so painfully hard he had to reach down and wrap his hand around his erection for some sensation, resisting the urge to stroke but desperate for some relief from the building, throbbing pressure inside him. 

Her hands slowly, almost reluctantly, drifted up from his arse to the tense muscles of his lower back which she kneaded and massaged as well, moving up and down with varying degrees of pressure until he felt all the tension there melt away under the hot water and her hot hands. She replaced her hands with her mouth, letting her teeth graze the protruding bony bits of his spine. He gasped and shuddered. “Lean, strong back and shoulders that carry the weight of the universe.” 

She kissed each shoulder in response and pushed on him gently, silently instructing him to turn around. He obliged, water now cascading on his well-loved back and her hands went immediately into his damp hair, nails scratching the scalp and he was barely able to control the sudden surge of his hips forward toward her, toward the completion he wanted so badly inside her. But even more he wanted to hear her continue, to describe to him this new body as she saw it in a way he could never see it, as a thing of beauty, a thing to be desired. She amazed him at every turn.

“Short, dark hair I always wanted to touch. Imagined running my hands over it just like this.” He made a long, low sound of appreciation and she chuckled darkly. “In my fantasies you almost always make a noise like that, yep.” Her confession of fantasizing about him made him want her even more, made him want to hear every fantasy and then show her the reality of each. Multiple times.

He bent his head obligingly, lowering it from his newfound height so she could continue. Her fingers drifted down to what he had decided earlier felt like rather large ears. Rose’s mouth curved in an affectionate smile, fingering each one delicately before pulling his head even lower so she could take one earlobe into her mouth, nibbling none too delicately and allowing her tongue to drift in. He wasn’t able to control the surge of his hips this time, thrusting once into his own hand and the hand not on his length flexed at his side, desperate to hold her. “Big ears,” she commented, into one of them. Assumption correct then. “You’re always making fun of ‘em but I love ‘em. And you know what they say about blokes with big ears,” she continued, pointedly glancing down to his impressive, stiff length currently partially hidden in his hand. The combination of her wicked glance and the peek of her tongue in her teeth made him thrust forward again, crying out at the sensation that was too much and yet wasn’t enough.

Allowing her lips to now ghost along his jawline with light, butterfly kisses she knew he was imagining elsewhere, she continued a bit breathlessly, affected by his display and his diminishing control, “Rugged jaw bone and high cheekbones. Strong, silent brow,” she said, pulling it down to press a kiss there as well, her hands on either side of his face, keeping it bowed. His eyes fluttered shut and she immediately kissed both eyelids. 

“Beautiful, ice blue eyes that see right through my soul. Expressive eyes that have seen so much and are able to light me on fire with the smallest glance.” He opened them suddenly to stare into her own, barely an inch away. Right now they were entirely black with just a small rim of hazel around the outside, her obvious desire fanning the flames of his own to a painful, fabulous burn. She held his gaze for a moment, letting her love shine through at him, hoping he would receive the message and then focused back on her task.

“Elegant Roman nose,” she commented, nuzzling it with her own. Big then, too, he thought. No wonder he could smell so well. “And soft, beautiful lips.” She ran her fingers over them, tracing the outline and gasping as he sucked one of them into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it before allowing her to remove it. Those lips then met hers for a brief moment, a communion of love, before she continued down to run her tongue along his Adam’s apple, sucking lightly, causing him to shudder against her. 

“Wiry, sparse chest with just a bit of dark hair.” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest and stomach, massaging the muscles of his chest as she had done his back and bending forward to take his nipples in her mouth one at a time, teasing the painfully hard peaks further, nipping at them slightly and drawing another guttural sound from him. 

“Slim frame. Your ribs show a bit,” she said, suddenly poking him and rewarded by an indignant “Oi!”. Her questing fingers went to the tight, muscular stomach, massaging it and causing a whole new flood of arousal to sweep through him, starting at the pit of his stomach and rushing to his groin, making him let go of his member, already pulsing with pre-cum, so it rose to rigid attention so near her hands. She yearned so badly to take him in hand, to stroke him and then take him in her mouth and, as if reading her thoughts, he twitched and rippled, letting loose another helpless noise, but Rose wasn’t finished with her exploration yet so she restrained the urge. As soon as she touched him she knew they would both be so frantic with need it would be over before it began. As it was, her body was humming with arousal so much that she could barely focus on him and keep from touching herself as he had been.

Her hands transferred to his left arm, circling it with both of hers and starting at his shoulder, running her hands the full length over suddenly tensed biceps until she reached his wrist similar to the motion she had been mimicking on his calves, repeating the action on the other as well. “Sinewy, sturdy arms that’ve carried me to bed, comforted me when I cried and held me while we danced.” 

She pressed a kiss to each wrist and then finally came to rest on his right hand. She slowly took each finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around and letting her teeth graze each digit on its exit. He watched with rapt fascination and was hit, hard, with the memory of the first time she took him in her mouth in her flat so long ago for him. He groaned and pressed himself against her, his hands on the small of her back, more fluid leaking from the tip, his erection trapped between them at her stomach, her body heat and skin giving him a small bit of the contact he craved.

“And this hand. The hand that started everything.” He glanced down to see their fingers entwined and for a moment, forgot about the pressing need that was clouding every one of his senses. She was watching him with deep, fathomless orbs of hazel. “From the moment you took my hand and told me to run, I knew I’d found my place in the universe.”

“And where is that?” he asked softly, forgetting for a moment who he was and what he’d done, forgetting that she was a only a human and would leave him far too soon, forgetting his pain and loneliness and grief, his world solely and sharply focused on her next words.

“Beside you,” she said, simply and it was the perfect thing to say. He finally surged forward to capture her lips with his own, offering her everything he had, everything he ever was and everything he ever would be if she would just stay there, beside him for the rest of Time and never leave him. 

His steel erection pressed into her stomach and they ground their bodies together with furious need, suddenly delirious with frantic attempts to occupy the same space. He lifted her easily, settling her on the edge of the handy little shelf in the shower and she immediately wrapped her legs around his body, sinking onto him with no hesitation whatsoever. He hadn’t wanted the second time to be like this, so like the first but he was gone and so was she.

As he surged forward, sinking deeply into her at this new angle he muttered a filthy Gallifreyan expletive, surprising himself with its ferocity but, oh, was it good. He said it again, changing it to a verb and adding her name. He rippled in her powerfully, reaching a spot in her velvet heat he remembered from the margins of his book and making her cry out with him. His proper Eighth self would be appalled at his language in front of the lady. Of course, he might also be appalled at ferociously fucking Rose against the shower wall. He grunted and increased his pace slightly at the thought of that other body with Rose and the terrible idea that she might have liked it better. He would erase all of that. He would make her love this body even more, let it bring her to new heights.

He changed speed once again, trying to listen to the internal language of her body and to match her needs with his own, cursing her, praising her, urging her on in words she wouldn’t understand echoed by her own fabulous sounds. 

Suddenly he felt her reach out to him mentally and his rhythm stuttered, his mind recoiling from the connection. His eyes flew open to see her watching him cautiously. “I’m sorry, Rose. I can’t. I just can’t right now. Please let this be enough. Let me be enough,” he pleaded, faltering. He raised his hands to the sides of her face, carefully far from her temples and kissed her desperately, rippling with the need to stay with her, to not let her reject him for his inadequacy.

“It’s fine, it’s ok. I’m sorry I asked,” she answered when he released her lips, astonished to hear his plea and see his vulnerability. Her mind had reached for his instinctively and she hadn’t thought about him not being able to handle the contact yet.

They didn’t move for a moment, afraid that they wouldn’t be able to reclaim the passion but he was still rock-solid inside her and she was still slick with need. “Doctor,” she whispered, willing him to look back up at her. Eventually he did, slightly guarded blue eyes gazing into hazel. And then she raised her hips and uttered his Gallifreyan curse back at him, correct verb tense and all, and he was once again surging into her with newfound heat.

He dragged his hand down her body from her face, settling it between them and working her swollen clit in time with his frenetic action. He was so close but he refused to come until she did. He would bring her satisfaction. He wouldn’t fail her in this, too. Finally, she tensed around him, tightening almost painfully and crying his name, the sounds of her release echoing around the shower. 

With a triumphant, guttural cry he rippled twice more, hoarsely crying the other word he had used earlier, repeatedly, in the console room, causing it to burn in the forefront of her mind again and, to both their surprise, making her come violently and completely again with him, meeting his body surge for surge. After a moment, he withdrew and sank to the floor of the shower, his knees too weak to stand, completely spent.

A few moments later, she nudged his shoulder with her foot and he looked up to see her beaming down at him from her shelf perch. He stood and gently lifted her to the floor, wordlessly taking the soap and washing the proof of their actions away from both of their bodies. 

Stepping out of the shower together, they wrapped up in fluffy white towels and, hand in hand, retired to his large bed. Without another sound, they dropped the towels and clung to each other, letting sleep take them both. He would not have nightmares tonight. How could he? Morning would come and they would have new challenges to face but she would still be here. Beside him.


	4. Nine IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a breakfast disaster, Rose attempts to seduce the Doctor in an alley, a favorite old friend makes a guest appearance and we find out just where Nine got that jacket.

The Doctor slowly awoke from an hour of blissful, nightmare-less sleep under the warm duvet and the even warmer sleeping form of Rose. He untangled their limbs a bit despite her sleepy mew of protest to roll over on his side and watch her peaceful breath rise and fall, much as he had done in the Tyler mansion on her last night in the other universe. 

He had slept very rarely during the Time War as it was hard to keep the mounting atrocities he had seen and been forced to commit at bay while unconscious. There had been rare times, however, when a figure, a shining golden goddess of his mind had come to him and soothed his terrors. He’d felt a happiness he didn’t recognize rekindle and been allowed a few hours of sleep then. Or sometimes the dreams took a surprisingly vivid physical turn that he should have been ashamed of, Time Lord that he was, but he clung to those dreams as strongly as he had the others. Now he understood that they hadn’t just been dreams, they’d been memories and fantasies, molded and shaped by his subconscious and probably the TARDIS, offering him Rose for some relief in sleep.

He ran his hand over her cheek, tracing the bone with his calloused fingers, and remembered how surprised she had been that his last form had mysteriously ended up in that parallel world. Somewhat sadly, he catalogued all the reasons he’d given himself then to try and explain why the doors between universes had closed and his future self hadn’t simply popped across the Void to get Rose. None of them had been quite this bad.

And now, knowing both why it had happened and how very important Rose was...he couldn’t imagine what his next form had gone through losing her. Or, in fact, what the man was probably still going through now. 

A very large part of him wanted to meet up with that pinstriped pretty boy and ask how it had happened, how he managed to let go of the most important thing in his life, in their collective lives. 

Or at least ask him what the hell happened in France. 

He must turn into an idiot. 

Maybe, if he knew how he was going to lose her, he could prevent it! There weren’t any other Time Lords to stop him from doing what he wanted now. He could avoid the pain and heartsbreak of losing her.

But then...she wouldn’t be here now, sleeping soundly, radiating warmth and acceptance, as this Ninth body tried to pick up the shattered pieces of his life and wouldn’t have been there then, shining bright and joyous, to give his Eighth self the courage to go off to a War he hadn’t been prepared to fight. 

Why did she have to be so complicated? 

He buried his head in her soft bare shoulder, breathing in her comforting scent. Couldn’t they just stay like this?

Anyway...what more could the universe possibly want from him? He was tired of being the its keeper. Especially because all it ever seemed to do was take from him. Took his family, took his friends, took his home and, eight times now, took his life. All he wanted was to be left alone. Well, to be left alone with Rose. And the TARDIS.

He sighed. Later, when he was the pretty boy, he’d probably resent this form for holding onto Rose right now but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. In fact, he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to be ready to let her go, Timelines and paradoxes be damned. He wanted to keep her, wanted to keep this. Running his hand from her cheekbone down her neck, over her collarbone and tracing the curve of her breast with his hand, he frowned. Even later, for him, when he would find her for her first time, she had said they would never be this close, he’d never be able to touch her like this. Not that he’d remember.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and spared one of his rare, genuine smiles for her as she sighed in her sleep. Standing up and stretching, he walked over to his new dresser. Opening one of the heavy metal drawers quietly, he began to explore his new set of belongings. The drawer contained several neat rows of black boxer-briefs similar to the ones Rose had purchased for him. He pulled out a pair and put them on...slightly new size than before but he found, to his relief, he still liked them. That was good, then. Always nice to know one’s pants preference.

The next drawer was full of undershirts like the one he had pulled on under the black jumper and the small drawer to the right of that was full of socks. It seemed that the TARDIS approved of his wardrobe choice. Although he wasn’t really sure he could trust her judgement on that...after all, she’d let his 6th body get away with fashion murder. He received an irritated hum in response and pulled his fingers back just in time to keep them from being half-heartedly smashed in the drawer he’d been poking around.

He pulled on a clean set of clothing, finding a cupboard full of dark jeans and different coloured jumpers...apparently the TARDIS did not think he should wear black every day. Taking a maroon one from a hanger without really examining it he then glanced over at Rose’s prone form. He guessed she would be asleep for another six hours or so which would give him time to get some work done in the console room. However, facing the large silent room without her seemed daunting in a silly way. He was a Time Lord after all. What did he need with a noisy human? 

He squared his shoulders and ensconced himself under the central console. The silence of the console room had become a welcome relief in his brief times of respite after he’d left her the last time since most of his time had been spent on Gallifrey in war councils or in battle with an entire planet of telepaths chattering away in his mind. Now however, the silence of the room only amplified the silence of his mind and it was overwhelming and terrifying. He hated it.

Very quickly, his ship decided that he was being far too distracting poking away under the console and she ordered him to do something else. He pulled himself out from his position under the grating and prowled around the console room, finally settling for collecting useful pieces of things he found scattered around the room and setting them on table off to the side. Five and a half hours later, the TARDIS nudged him that Rose was beginning to wake up. He stalked away to the kitchen, intending to make her breakfast. She’d enjoyed his cooking before and he wanted to make up for being such a lousy housemate and boyfriend.

Hold on...boyfriend? Where the hell had that come from? He was far too old and too jaded to be considered someone’s boyfriend. He snorted and started opening drawers and cupboards.

It was in the kitchen, or at least a room that formerly resembled the kitchen, that a bleary-eyed Rose found him half an hour later. She had awoken to the sound of crashing pots and pans interspersed with loud Gallifreyan curses. Rose walked through the door and gaped around her in surprise. The Doctor was standing in the middle of the room looking utterly baffled, completely surrounded by open drawers and what appeared to be every kitchen utensil Rose had ever seen and a grand number of those she hadn’t

She was about to laugh at the absurd picture he made when he looked up and met her eyes with an expression so pitiful the laugh died in her throat. “None of it makes sense anymore, Rose. I’m sure I used to know this stuff,” he said plaintively. He glanced down at what appeared to be a whisk in his left hand and she watched as his mood began to shift, as he tossed it to the floor before he continued, “I was a good cook! A brilliant cook. You know that. I cooked for you.” She nodded silently, attempting to make her way to him across the sea of discarded kitchenware, his anger growing.

“Now I can’t even figure out which one of these Omega-loving pans to use to make scrambled eggs. Or where I would find eggs to scramble. Or what the hell I’d use to scramble them with. Nothing looks familiar.” He threw his hands up in the air, one of them with a strangely shaped pan clenched in his fist and then he swore again. “EGGS, Rose. I can’t even make you EGGS,” he ranted, slamming the pan in his hand down on the counter with a resounding clang.

“It’s ok,” she said, finally reaching him and nudging a wok out of the way with her foot so she could stand next to him. “I can make breakfast for us,” she offered.

“That’s not the point, Rose!” he roared, turning to her suddenly, his face inches from hers. He panted for a second and then seemed to get himself back under control. The anger vanished and was replaced by sadness. “I was going to do it for you,” he mumbled. “S’just another way that I’m totally useless now.” He looked down at his hands and then ran them over his short hair, realizing too late that he didn’t have curls to pull on anymore. “I can’t do anything!” he shouted, angry once more, kicking a nearest drawer closed before storming out of the kitchen.

Rose sighed and stared after him. That was not an auspicious way to start the morning. She had learned long ago that when he was in a mood like this, it was best to leave him alone to brood and shout for a bit before eventually going to find him with a peace offering of food and tea.

She set about putting away the massive amount of utensils and cookware he’d managed to pull out and then opened the fridge to find some sort of egg substitute (according to the TARDIS) sitting on the otherwise empty shelf. He’d wanted eggs and the TARDIS had done her best to provide them. They’d need to go get groceries at some point soon but that would do for now...and at least there was tea. Thanking the TARDIS, she put the kettle on and made breakfast humming lightly to herself again. She wasn’t going to let him bring her mood down. 

Balancing two plates and two mugs of tea, she walked out to the console room in her dressing gown, unsurprised to find him hunched over a table off the the side of the room muttering. Sitting the plates and mugs down on the bench, she walked over and nudged his leg with her foot. “Breakfast’s up,” Rose said, before turning from him to walk back to her food. He sighed and ignored her for a few moments which she had been expecting but eventually the smell and temptation of tea pulled him away from whatever grand mechanical mystery he had been contemplating. Sheepishly he walked over and sat next to her on the bench, poking at his “eggs”.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his tea, not looking at her. “It’s just...this regeneration’s been hard. Harder than most. Feels like I can’t do anything right. The TARDIS is a mess, I’m a mess and I keep trying to make us a mess,” continued the Doctor more to his plate than to her. 

“S’okay. You’ve still gotta figure out who you are. Lucky for you, I already know ya,” Rose answered, crossing her legs on the bench and sticking a bite of “eggs” in her mouth. 

He smiled her, one of the quiet small slow smiles she treasured. “Well, that’s good. At least one of us knows how I like my tea,” he said, taking a swig. “Thank you,” he added quietly and she knew he meant for more than just the tea. 

Downing the rest of his tea and finishing off his food, he continued self-deprecatingly, “At least now I know why you were so surprised that I could cook before.”

“I’m going to have to teach you how to make soup from a tin so you don’t starve to death,” she teased lightly.

“I’ve got energy bars. Everything a body needs in those,” he responded, grinning at the face she made at the remark.

“Speaking of those horrid things...we need to stop and pick up groceries someplace,” Rose said. She was getting really tired of those bars and she didn’t really want to think about where the TARDIS had rounded up that egg substitute. “D’you think we’ll be able to stop by someplace soon? How’s the TARDIS doing?” she asked, patting the strut nearest to the bench where she was sitting.

Staring at her in disbelief he answered slowly, “We should be able to dematerialize later today if you want. She’s doing much better. But you mean...you’re staying?” 

Rose smiled. “As long as you need me to,” she replied sincerely, taking his hand.

“But what about him? Er...me? Future me?” The pretty boy needed her. But so did he. He was always going to need her. Now and then. 

“Time machine, remember?” She nudged him in the ribs gently, quirking the side of her mouth up. “Take me to him when you’re ready.”

He held her gaze a moment longer and then leaned in to press his lips to hers gently, the sweetest kiss he’d been able to offer her in this body. Just being with her tamed some of the raging ups and downs of this body as long as his primal instincts weren’t overtaking him.

“So what’cha workin’ on over here?” Rose asked, jumping from the bench and bounding to the table he’d been mulling over earlier. It was covered in a very strange assortment of objects and scattered post-it notes which had flowing, geometric diagrams and circles covering every inch. 

“The TARDIS was a bit busy this morning and I was bored waiting for you to get up so I was making something,” he said.

“Ok. Making what?” she asked over her shoulder at him, waiting for him to come closer.

“Sonic screwdriver,” he said casually, picking up a long silver piece he was considering using for the body. “My last one didn’t survive the war and they’re too useful to not have. Er...right?” he asked just as casually, peering distractedly at the object in his hand as though her answer didn’t matter.

“Doctor, are you fishing for future information?” Rose asked seriously, raising an eyebrow at him, delighted to have one over on him.

“What? No. Of course not. That would be cheating,” he said back just as seriously, the slight twinkle in his bright blue eyes the only giveaway to his game. “But...if I were to ask you whether I should use a blue or a green light on the end...what would you say?” he asked, fiddling with the two light fixtures he’d cobbled together.

“Mmm...I’d have to say blue. Oh, and make sure you do some of your fancy jiggery pokery so it makes a whirring noise,” Rose said, pretending to think about it very hard.

“Why does it need to make a noise?” he asked.

“Well, feels a lot more like you’re getting something done when it makes a noise. It’s very satisfying. That and s’easier to find it when you lose it,” she said, grinning up at him and leaning into his arm.

He shook his head at her, shoving her lightly with his shoulder. “Go on then, shoo. Go work over there and leave me to my ‘jiggery pokery’. I’ve got a screwdriver to make.”

She laughed and walked the other side of the room, the TARDIS offering a suggestion of how she could help, stripping wires down and pairing them off. They worked in relative silence, the Doctor’s occasional murmurs and Rose’s quiet humming the only real sounds in the room. They were small things but that melodic hum and the noisy sound of her inferior respiratory system soothed him.

Several hours later, Rose looked up suddenly as the air was filled with an achingly familiar sound. The Doctor was standing across the room, triumphantly holding up his newly finished screwdriver, complete with a blue light, watching her face carefully. She let her brilliant, all-encompassing smile loose for him and he grinned back at her. Running across the room, she stopped just shy of him and reached out to stroke the object in his hand. 

“Do it again,” she said softly.

He quirked an eyebrow at her and pressed the button again, once again filling the air with an electronic whir. Rose closed her eyes and made a small happy sound deep in her throat. “That is my third favourite sound in the whole universe,” she said, opening her eyes to find the Doctor still watching her closely. 

She probably didn’t know it, but she’d just made one of his favorite sounds. “What’re the others?” he asked, jamming the screwdriver down in his pocket and moving so his hands rested lightly around her waist. 

She transferred her own hands so her arms were locked around his neck, pulling their faces closer together. “Well, my second favourite sound is that grinding noise the TARDIS makes whenever we come or go someplace. And the first....is how you say my name,” she finished shyly.

“Rose?” he asked, making the question in his voice loud and clear, purposefully misinterpreting her desire.

She laughed lightly and bumped him with her hip. “Not like that, you prat. My whole name,” she said.

“Ah,” he responded, pulling her closer so their bodies were flush together and his lips were brushing the soft shell of her ear. “You mean, Rose Tyler,” he said, letting each individual sound fall from his lips with a gentle caress, pouring everything he felt for her into those three syllables.

She sighed and made her happy noise again, which made him bury his head in her hair, breathing in her gorgeous, unique scent of jasmine and vanilla and something that was just her.

Turning her head slightly, he bent down to capture her lips when suddenly Rose’s stomach growled loudly, making them both jump slightly. Moment evaporated, Rose laughed and he chuckled lightly. “Hungry, are you?”

“A bit, yeah,” she said. “Breakfast was a long time ago. So, what d’ya think, girl? Can we go someplace for lunch?” Rose asked, turning from him and looking up at the ceiling.

An affirmative hum and a wave of green surrounded her and she turned to beam to the Doctor who was already headed over to the console, flicking switches and moving levers. Rose leapt up onto the jump seat, falling quickly into watching him work, one of her favourite pastimes except now she didn’t have to fantasize...she knew what he looked like under those clothes. 

“Where to, then?” he asked, jumping around with a grace she remembered quite clearly. It was a bit different from the jerky, dodge and duck movements of his enthusiastic replacement but each gesture still rang with energy and precision.

“Doctor, do you really have to ask? Remember, I’ve just spent three years in a universe with no potatoes,” she said, drawing her knees up on the seat.

“Right! Forgot about that. Chips it is!” he said, manic energy radiating off him as he flicked the last lever. “And, now...your second favourite sound, Rose Tyler,” he said, finishing with her first and offering her a small sensuous smile. 

The ride was more than a bit bumpy and Rose didn’t stay on the jump seat for long. Very quickly, she found herself sprawled on the floor next to the Doctor, gripping his jumper for dear life and laughing with glee. Oh, some things never changed.

When the TARDIS finally stopped spinning and jerking, he climbed to his feet and offered her a hand up, his face darkened. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said. “That was a disturbingly rough ride. You could have been hurt.”

“I’m fine! It’s just....it’s nice to be home,” she said.

“You mean it’s going to be like that permanently from now on?” he groaned, scuffing his boot against the grating.

“Yep!” she said, joyfully. He didn’t understand her glee at his dysfunctional ship. Of course, he didn’t understand her glee at dysfunctional him either, so maybe he should stop questioning her. “And it’s fantastic! C’mon then! Where and when are we?” she asked, pulling him toward the door.

“Earth, San Francisco, 1967, Summer of Love,” he said, glancing down at his watch, rolling his eyes at the TARDIS’ choice and walking with her out the doors.

“I say I want chips and you bring me to AMERICA?” she asked, incredulously, not really upset with him...it was so grand to be travelling with him once again, she didn’t really care WHERE they ended up, just so long as they were together.

“Oi! D’you want to drive?” he asked. He’d been aiming for London in the 1990’s. “There’s got to be chips around here someplace.”

They worked their way to the edge of a large, open square and Rose was about to cross the street toward a promising cafe when the Doctor tugged her hand in the opposite direction. “Bank,” he said, pointing toward a large, alabaster building two doors down. 

“We’re going to get money out of a bank?” she asked, disbelievingly. 

“Where else would we get money?” he asked in return, raising an eyebrow at her and pulling her inside the large, vaulting hall.

“How’re you going to get money? D’you have an account or something?” she continued.

He took a familiar black wallet out of his pocket and waved in front of her nose. “Psychic paper. Anyway, I worked for UNIT around this time like I said. I should have an account set up already for that.” The Doctor strolled up the the counter and, minutes later, handed Rose a large stack of cash. “Never like dealing with human money, me,” he said. 

“Well, I don’t know what they all mean!” Rose exclaimed, eyeing the the bills uncertainly. “How’re you supposed to tell which one is which? They’re all the same size and colour!”

“Look at the numbers on them, Rose,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And put it away for now. Don’t want to get mugged on our first trip together.”

They walked across the street to the cafe Rose had spotted earlier and were rewarded with two steaming plates of chips or “french fries” even if they didn’t come in newspaper. Rose was simply glad to have any potato based fried goodness and the Doctor watched with amusement as she polished off her plate quickly.

“Good, then?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them as Rose focused on her greasy treat. Particularly on how she was licking the salt and grease off each finger in a very methodical and very deliberate fashion.

“So good,” she replied, closing her eyes in bliss and then slowly opening them to look back at him. Suddenly, she eyed him closely, examining his appearance with newfound scrutiny as if she were seeing him for the first time.

“What?” he asked defensively, glancing down to make sure he hadn’t spilled something on his jumper.

“That’s the same jumper you were wearing the first time I met you,” she said, her eyes taking on a faraway look he recognized from his time with her in his last body. “Same one you wore the first time we ever went for chips,” she continued, smiling at him slightly. She hadn’t known then just how much he would change her life. She’d seen a good man, a lonely man, and she’d simply wanted to help him, to hold his hand and dispel some of the sadness she’d seen in his eyes. “I paid then, too,” she added, sticking her tongue in her teeth once more and kicking him lightly under the table.

“Oi! That’s my money, remember?” he said, returning her smile and reaching over to entwine one hand of her greasy fingers with his own while she used the other to pryse out some bills from the stack he’d given her. Leaving a few of the green bills on the table, Rose stood up and used their knitted hands to tug him out the door.

He was about to comment on the psychadelic time period around them when Rose suddenly turned down an alley outside the cafe and silenced any remark he was going to make with her tongue down his surprised throat. His arms instantly went around her, one tangling in her hair and the other around the small of her back as she pressed him against the brick wall.

“That, Rose, I...what?” he panted to her when she finally broke away from his mouth to breathe.

Rose grinned up at him cheekily. “Just living a fantasy I remembered when I realized which jumper you were wearing,” she responded.

“You wanted to do that the first time we met?” he asked, incredulously. She had described him positively (and a shudder of arousal shot through his body at remembering that experience) but he felt like he was rather daft looking.

“Since ‘run!’,” she said. He quirked an eyebrow but didn’t question her. “What can I say? You saved my life and then told me to forget you. Very clever move, that. And you had the whole sexy-mysterious-brooding-alien thing going for ya. Speaking of sexy,” she said coyly, pressing against him and drifting her hand over from its position on his hip toward the zip of his trousers and the growing bulge there. She popped the button and ran her thumb over him through all too much fabric and he moaned slightly, shifting under her hand. “Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

He groaned again, and this time it wasn’t out of arousal judging by the accompanied eyeroll. “That, Rose Tyler, was the worst line ever,” he said and then promptly forgot all complaints as she chose that moment to pull down his zip and plunge her hand into his briefs.

He rippled in her grip as she encircled him in the fabric, long, stiff and pointing upwards against his stomach. She pumped his length several times and when she let her thumb drift over the head, swirling around to capture the liquid there, he groaned again. “Rose, you’ve got to stop,” the Doctor gritted out through his teeth with every ounce of self-control he could muster.

“Why?” she pouted up at him, giving him a squeeze that made his hips surge forward of their own accord. “No one can see us. And anyway...Summer of Love, you said.”

Well, she had a point there. The streets around them were teeming with bohemians exploring sexual freedom more fully than they ever had, at least in these few centuries. Rather than being scandalized, these people were more likely to smile and encourage them. Or want to join them, he thought with a frown spotting a good-looking, dark-haired man across the street in a paisley shirt who evidently could see them and was staring at them intently. Never going to happen, buster he thought. I don’t share.

“Because I refuse for our third time to be up against a wall. Again,” he said guiltily, gently removing her hand. “Especially a rough brick wall in a dingy American alley.”

Reluctantly, he reached down, trying to ignore her disappointed expression and trying to confine his enthusiastic, uncooperating anatomy back to its denim cage which was made especially difficult when Rose lifted her slightly sticky fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. He quickly bent his head to hers, wanting to taste himself mingled with her before forcefully clamping down on his arousal. 

“Back to the TARDIS,” he said, looking up at her, finally back under control. “Then you can have your wicked way with me.” Rose was staring off toward the direction the paisley-shirted man had been, looking slightly confused. “Rose?” he asked.

She shook her head and then turned back to him. “TARDIS, right,” she responded, grabbing his hand as they walked out of the alley.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Across the street, Jack Harkness shook his head and turned in the opposite direction. He’d been waiting for the Doctor for so long... he’d come here to forget for a while. 

Drugs, booze, Rock and Roll and a whole country full of young people looking to explore their sexuality...a perfect place to forget, except that this wasn’t forgetting. He needed to lay off the narcotics...they were making him hallucinate. Well, more than usual. How else could he explain having just seen Rose Tyler with her hands down the trousers of their first Doctor? Because he knew that had never happened. 

Maybe it was time he went back to London and made something useful of himself. He could stop in and see baby Rose along the way...check in on her periodically while he waited. The 1990’s weren’t too far away. He’d keep her safe for the Doctor. And the Doctor was sure to show up one of these days. Sighing, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rose seemed distracted on their silent trek back to the TARDIS. He hoped he hadn’t offended her by stopping her in the alley. Rassilon knows he hadn’t really wanted to. He was about to ask her and make sure everything was ok when he saw a sign for a used electronics store.

“Rose, mind if I pop in there? Might be able to find something useful,” he said.

“Useful?” she asked, eyebrow raised and looking infinitely skeptical. “You might be able to find something ‘useful’ for your transdimensional, sentient, telepathic, time-traveling space ship in a 1967 American used electronics shop?”

“Never know!” he said, grinning at her. His grin vanished when she dropped his hand. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked nervously.

She made a face at him. “Ugh. No thanks. Sounds boring. I’ll just look around out here,” she said, pulling out some bills and handing them to him. He shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. She was too precious, too fragile. What if something happened to her? “Doctor, I’ll be fine,” she said gently, seeming to read his thoughts. Oh, right. Maybe she was. “The TARDIS is right there,” she continued, pointing to the blue box just visible on the corner. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

He nodded reluctantly and turned abruptly from her to enter the shop. He’d have to let her go at some point. This was just a baby step in that direction. 

Walking over to one of the stalls selling trinkets and knick-knacks, Rose absently picked up a beaded necklace. She had been surprised that he’d agreed to let her out of his sight. She’d felt his sudden well of panic and barely suppressed fear when she had suggested it. But he was going to have to let her go sometime. She would try to ease him into it. Setting the necklace down, she wandered back out into the street and was pulled into a clothing shop just beside the TARDIS.

She meandered aimlessly around the shop, dodging the enthusiastic, elderly sales clerk, preferring just to wander around since she was, in fact, “just looking”. Aimlessly, she let her fingers trail over the racks of clothing and let her thoughts wander over the past two weeks. Suddenly her fingers stopped of their own accord and she was pulled back to a rack.

There, under her fingertips like butter she traced familiar seams lacing over distressed leather, familiar buttons breaking the surface, familiar pockets empty at the moment and currently the same size on the inside but oh, there it was. It was The Jacket. His jacket. She lifted it to her nose. It smelled of new leather and of the shop, no engine grease or Time but how could it? It wasn’t his yet. 

But it would be, of that she was certain. Certain like she’d felt when he first took her hand and showed her the spin of the Earth. Certain like she’d felt when his new, unfamiliar fingers had taken her and he’d reprised their first meeting. Certain like she’d felt when his far-off distant voice had pulled her to a Norwegian beach to say goodbye. 

“Would you like that jacket, madam?” came the kindly voice of the clerk to her left, making her jump, nose still buried in the coat sleeve. Rose nodded dumbly and the clerk picked up the jacket, motioning for Rose to follow him to the counter. “I hope it’s the correct size, that’s the only one if its kind left.” 

“Been sitting there all alone for months! Seemed no one wanted the poor, battered thing,” he continued. Seeing Rose’s strange look, he fumbled and distracted himself with ringing up her purchase. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he bumbled. “Just hadn’t found the right person to care for it yet. Sorry...sentimental old fool, I am here in this shop,” he said. “Talking about the clothes like they’re people. Gets a bit lonesome in here all day,” he said sheepishly. 

Rose smiled at him kindly. “No, I understand. An’ you’re right....just took the right person.”

“Oh, you’re British! How delightful!” the man said. “Are you here on vacation? San Francisco is lovely in the summer. A lot sunnier than old London town I would imagine,” he said, smiling kindly at her.

“Just here travelling with a friend. The jacket’s for him,” she responded. 

“Just a friend?” the older man asked, gently teasing her as he wrapped the jacket up in tissue paper.

“All right,” she said playfully. “More like my boyfriend. But don’t let him hear me say that. He’d run in the other direction for sure.”

“Good at running is he?” the man asked absently, taking the stack of outstretched bills from her hand and, smiling, returning several of the unnecessary ones.

“You have no idea!” Rose laughed back. 

The elderly clerk handed her the bag containing her precious purchase and gave her one last smile. “There you are, young lady. You take good care of that jacket. And that man,” he added with a wink.

Rose gave him one of her most stunning smiles and thanked him. “I will,” she added, turning back to face him before exiting the shop.

Rose walked across the street and pulled out her key to enter the TARDIS. Looking at the bag in her hand, she walked over the the central console and laid a hand on the time rotor. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you brought us to San Francisco, of all places,” she asked. The TARDIS sent her what could only be described as a blue, beaming mental smile.

“So I bought him his jacket,” she mused. “Should I give it to him now?” she asked. A red mental negative. “Ah, ok. Not yet then. You’ll tell me when?” The idea that she would know when floated through her mind. Rose nodded and left to stash the bag in the cupboard of one of the rooms.

“So all this was meant to happen?” she asked out loud, settling on the jump seat and resting a hand on the strut nearest to her. “I had to get separated from him? Had to end up in Pete’s world? Had to get brought to the wrong version of him now?” The TARDIS hummed at her sadly. “S’ok. Not your fault. And...I’m glad. I’d do anything for him, you know that,” she said, giving the strut one last pat and letting the TARDIS’ gentle hum pull her toward a nap. 

The TARDIS beamed at her proudly. She knew. And her little wolf had done more, would do more for her dear pilot than Rose could ever know. He’d needed someone, a bond mate, someone to love him and someone for him to love and she’d found one. One even more brilliant than she could have ever imagined. A valiant child that Time itself rejoiced in, one that banished its Champion’s darkness and shared in his joy.

The Doctor slipped in the door moments later, his hands full of bags of possibly useful but probably useless 1967 junk. He smiled at the sight of Rose sprawled out haphazardly on the jump seat, deeply asleep with a tender smile on her face. The TARDIS pulsed at him with a deep wave of love and he felt happy. Happy deep in his soul, as if for a moment, everything was where and when it was supposed to be.

He set his bags down on the messy table and strode over to gather Rose up in his arms. She was a delightful, fragrant armful and he breathed in deep, taking in her soothing scent as he carried her off to his bed where she wouldn’t wake up with such a crick in her neck. She snuggled deeper in his arms and he felt a wave of emotion, her emotion, surround him. Cautiously, he lowered her to the bed and let his fingers graze her temple, dropping his tightly held shields ever so gently.

He was flooded with her essence, her thoughts, her feelings, her soul, tempered and dulled by the fact that she was asleep but so overwhelmingly Rose. It was blissful, it was intoxicating, it was...home. He sifted through her thoughts lightly, finding the ones centered on him and he was deluged with images of himself, the first time he’d seen this face (daft, just as he’d thought) but then suddenly he was seeing himself as Rose saw him...and he had never felt so handsome. So clever, so impressive, so brave, so good.

He staggered back, letting his shields come up and staring at her with new wonder. She felt so much. Even connection with his own people had never been like that. Of course, he had never been this close to anyone before but...still. Time Lords and Gallifreyans didn’t feel like that. It must be the human-ness of her. So much life crammed into so short a time. 

Settling next to her on top of the covers, he drew her to his chest. He needed to examine this strange link between them but he could do it later. For now, he just wanted to revel in her love. 

He knew he would have to spend the rest of his existence trying to live up to the man that Rose thought he was and that alone gave him new purpose. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to look in the mirror and see that man, too.


	5. Nine V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nine tries to figure out what all this mental connection stuff is about, the TARDIS is uncooperative, Rose has to be the mature one yet again and the Doctor is in for a major surprise.
> 
> Thoughts on where/when/who is outside that door? Bit of a short chapter so I could leave you with that evil cliffhanger! Thanks for the support and reviews!

Rose found him later in the library, sitting on the couch looking lost in thought. She approached slowly and tentatively, not wanting to startle or bother him. He had a few piles of books sitting on the coffee table, books she didn’t recognize. Looking up when she walked in, he offered her one of his rare, slow smiles and she brightened immediately at him. 

The Doctor raised his arm in silent permission to join him and Rose quickly burrowed underneath it, wrapping one arm around his torso and laying her head on his chest, breathing in his spiced scent and rubbing her cheek on the wool. He settled the arm over her shoulders and pulled her in even closer, appreciating the newfound warmth. He always seemed a bit cold in this regeneration...maybe it was another way his biology was punishing him or maybe it was just another symbol of his need for her.

“This about us?” she asked, tapping her temple and gesturing to the piles of books surrounding them. 

“Mm-hmm,” he responded absently.

“So, find anything?” she queried again. She heard and felt his sigh, his chest raising and lowering as the expelled breath ruffled her hair.

“No, not really. It’s as much a mess in here as it is everywhere else. The TARDIS will fix it eventually but there are more important things for her t’be doing than acting as librarian right now,” he responded, sounding sad and a bit defeated. His fingers rose to absently stroke through her hair.

“It’d be a snap to find in the National Library on Galli-,” he caught himself sharply and painfully and both he and Rose tensed. “Would have been a snap,” he said quietly.

She felt his guilt and grief crash through them both and shut her eyes against the onslaught of his black, painful emotions. She was so sensitive to him now. Perhaps because she had better control over her telepathy. Perhaps because the emotions in him were flying so wildly around. Perhaps because of something more. Something, so far, for which he hadn’t been able to find an explanation.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Rose offered her soothing presence, trying to send calm, loving thoughts toward him, unsure if he could feel them or not. She waited until the anguish had abated and saw his mind’s colour fade back to navy. She glanced a look at what she understood to be his mood, his desires. Hidden under his brooding, he wanted her to speak, to draw him out.

“So, what d’you think is going on? I know you’ve got a theory in the big ol’ brain of yours,” she said.

The Doctor let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, glad that she had broken the silence. He pulled back to look at her and she instinctively sat up to face him, understanding that whatever they were about to discuss was important. “I....well, remember the word I kept using earlier? When we were...together?” he asked and, to Rose’s enormous surprise, the tips of his fabulous ears tinged pink.

She grinned at him wickedly. “This one, you mean?” she asked innocently, repeating what she knew to be his new favourite curse word.

To her delight, his ears tinged again. “No. Not that one. The other one,” he said, desperately trying to ignore her attempt to tease him and all the other complicated things that word falling from her lips caused.

“Oh, so...,” she tried the latter word, her tongue struggling to work around the strange musical syllables, looking up at him with wide eyes, awaiting his approval. He smiled at her briefly again, marveling both at her ability to speak his language and her determination to please him with it. 

“What does it mean? You didn’t say before.”

“Well, I was a bit busy,” he said, returning her playful tone making her blush in return. Fair play, he thought. Then the small smile dropped from his face and he looked away from her at his hands in his lap.

“So,” she prodded, “What’s it mean, then? Did I marry you in some weird Time Lord way?” she joked, reaching out to take his left hand and tugging on his ring finger.

To her surprise, he jerked his head up to look at her, frowning at her supposed joke. Her eyes widened slightly, taking in his response and she transferred her grip to envelop his whole hand.

Looking away from her, he glanced down at the entwined fingers in his lap. “Well, it’s...it’s not a normal Gallifreyan word. It’s actually High Gallifreyan, which isn’t...wasn’t,” his throat constricted painfully at the past tense, “generally used. S’like Latin. Learn it it in school, then forget about it. It’s the basis of our language and it’s trotted out for important ceremonies but that’s about it.” He paused, trying to figure out how to explain more to her.

“So...it’s especially odd that it happened to be on the tip of my tongue and that I kept...repeating it,” he said, shifting a bit awkwardly and remembering his out of control behaviour during their little incident in the console room. 

Ok. Their big incident in the console room. Behaviour that he had then reprised in the shower. 

“All right, it’s a weird old word. D’you know what it means?” Rose asked, still not seeing where all of this was going.

He shot her an affronted glance. “Course I know what it means. You think I don’t know my own language?” She merely rolled her eyes at him and made an impatient gesture for him to continue. He was getting frustrated at her flippant nature but she of course didn’t understand the significance of what he was trying to get out, of how hard this was for him, of how major this was going to affect them both if he was right. How could she? He hadn’t told her. He silently cursed his newly-impatient personality.

“It means ‘mine’,” he said quietly.

“Mine?” she repeated, and he cringed slightly.

“Yes,” he responded, finally braving a look up from their hands to her face. She looked confused.

“Ok,” she said slowly. “So when we have sex you’re a bit possessive. S’not exactly a new development. I don’t mind. Kinda like it actually. You’ve always been possessive. Any of you,” she finished, cocking her head to the side at him. She didn’t understand why he was making such a big deal out of this. She and his next form hadn’t ever batted an eye at the “my Rose”/ “my Doctor” thing. Or even acknowledged it, really. Not that she’d ever been able to find out what the future him was like during sex. Her mind started to wander that direction but was quickly brought back when the Doctor beside her cleared his throat.

“It’s not just when we have sex, Rose. It’s...it’s always. Forever. You’re mine. I claimed you,” he said, desperately, reaching out to touch his mark at the junction of her shoulder and neck. Rose looked at him, still confused. She didn’t understand and he didn’t know how to make her. Or how she would react.

“What?” Rose’s voice had gone very low and very quiet.

That’s what he had been afraid of. There was her rejection, hovering close to the surface. Revulsion, he was sure, lurked under that single syllable, revulsion at an action he hadn’t meant to take and that he could never undo, revulsion at being bound to a defective, alien monstrosity for the remainder of her life.

He tore his hands from hers and stood up, unable to sit so close to her. Why were his emotions so wild in this regeneration? He had not only ruined the rest of their time now, but he had ruined their future together. He’d felt her timelines shift and click, settling them into this path. It was permanent. No going back. But it was going to be too much. She was going to leave him. He always thought she might.

Except when she left him now, it just might actually kill him. And her.

He ran his hands over his short hair and started out the door when he heard “Where’re you going? Explain this to me. Don’t you shut me out now,” Rose’s voice pleaded from the couch. He turned back to her to find her watching him carefully, not standing up to slap him or worse, running from him. 

She should.

Instead she looked scared. Nervously, he peeked at the emotions bombarding his shields. She was scared. Scared that he was rejecting her, pushing her away yet again. Scared and unsure how to deal with him.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, incredulously.

“Should I be?” she asked in return. “You still haven’t really explained it to me. But at least at the moment it sounds like nothing new. I already promised you forever or will promise you forever, however this confusing crossing timelines thing works.” He looked at her, utterly amazed again. He thought he’d learned to stop underestimating her in his Eighth body. Apparently not. “And you promised me, too. Coricana, remember?” she said.

His visage softened again, indeed remembering that wonderful night. Rose watched, amazed, as his face transformed into the blissful, peaceful expression she had seen so rarely on this face and for a moment, a cerulean blaze lit up the darkened corners of his mind.

The Doctor considered his promise to her back then. It had surprised him, a promise that big to someone he had met only days before...days and lifetimes. And he had meant it. Meant it more than anything he’d ever promised. Maybe that’s where this all had begun...

“S’more than just a promise, though, Rose. You are mine. Body, mind, soul. If I’m right, and I’m fairly certain I am, you’re bonded to me,” he said, slowly walking back to the couch but not daring to look her in the eye. 

“What does that mean? Bonded to you?” she asked.

“Honestly...I don’t really know,” he said honestly, sinking down beside her and putting his head in his hands.

“How can you not know?” Rose squeaked. This was getting very real, very fast. His reactions to this conversation were more daunting to her more than his actual words. He seemed frightened and overwhelmed and neither of those were emotions she readily associated with the Doctor.

She had thought something important had passed between them in the console room but it seemed she had underestimated it. And he was acting like this was some horrible, frightening imposition. Then a dark, niggling doubt swept through her. She’d been looking at this solely from her perspective and her views...but maybe it was that he didn’t want to be bonded to her, whatever that meant. Stuck with some stupid ape for the rest of this life and part of the next one. 

Or maybe there was some other ape he’d rather be tied to.

Beside him, Rose’s thoughts and emotions buzzed away and he tried to shut them out but she was so worked up it felt as though she was shouting at him mentally and he wasn’t listening. In a now familiar but still irritating habit, his emotions swung unexpectedly, his raised voice catching Rose off guard, lost in her thoughts as she had been. 

“How could I possibly know? Time Lords don’t do this!” he practically yelled, lifting his head from his hands and turning his blazing eyes on her. Unfortunately, the only person there to yell and blaze at was Rose. “It’s not done, it’s not proper. It hasn’t been for centuries. Eons. Millenia.” 

His face darkened and he scowled down at her. “It’s wrong. We’re wrong.”

His words stung her as if he’d physically hit her but she tried to hide the flinch. He didn’t mean it.

She was fairly certain. 

She could, after all, feel his emotions warring with each other in the desperately confusing, chaotic disarray of his mind. If it had been his last self or even his future self she probably would be able to tell what he meant but this him had always been hard to read even when she didn’t have the dubiously-added bonus of looking into his head.

The Doctor stood, stalking away from her and staring at the opposite wall as though he could burn a hole in the wall with just his glance, hands clenched in fists. Not only was he the last Time Lord left, he was a defective one. He always had been and now here he was, a nothing, an outcast, representing his race as the sole survivor. 

And he was a git. He had heard the sharp intake of breath from Rose at his words even though she tried to cover it. Her hurt and uncertainty prickled at the edge of his mind, along with a flare of jealousy and seemingly random flashes of Sarah Jane, a blond woman with pigtails and, strangely, someone he was fairly certain was Jeanne Antoinette Poisson.

What was the matter with him? They weren’t wrong. In fact, this was probably the only “right” thing in his life at the moment. And he was doing his very best to cock it all up. He’d been so happy just a few hours ago. Spending those intermittent hours brooding in the library surrounded by books reminding him of everything he had lost had not been a good idea. Why hadn’t he just stayed in bed with her? He could have been making love to her right now instead of fighting with her.

Rose took a deep breath. She was being silly. He hadn’t even met two of those women yet and he loved her, even if he couldn’t say it yet. She could see it in him, in his mind and his actions. 

From what she could tell, this was more about him than it was about her or even about them. He thought he wasn’t acting like a “proper” Time Lord and he was the only one left. She snorted to herself. From what she’d heard, he was about as far from proper as he could get...and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

And she was going to have to be the mature, adult one and reach out to him to settle this argument. She snorted wryly to herself. Having to act like more mature than a man a thousand plus years her senior...now that was ironic.

“So explain what you do know. Then we’ll figure it out.” She stood, reached out and took his hand from behind, tugging and waiting patiently until he sighed heavily and turned around. “Together,” she said, meaningfully.

He searched her face for a long few silent moments before giving in to her. They sank back down on the couch, Rose with her legs tucked underneath her, leaning against the arm and him with one leg up and one down, doing the same. A flash of his Eighth form in a similar position sitting on her flat’s couch went through Rose’s mind and into his and they both sat, momentarily lost in thought and memories before he finally broke the silence. She had been such a fascinating anomaly then. And she seemed just as much a puzzle now. Why was she being so understanding? It seemed like all he did was yell at her. He’d do better. 

He kept saying that.

“Right then, well...I don’t know much. We barely learn anything about this stuff in history because it comes from the Dark Ages, before Rassilon, and the Academy’s always been sort of...embarrassed by it. Shows the Time Lords weren’t so high and mighty once upon a time. Haven’t always been smarter and more highly evolved than the rest of the universe. And, on top o’that, history class was a long, long time ago. If I could find the book I’m looking for it would help a lot. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the TARDIS was hiding it from me on purpose,” he finished, taking a glance up at the ceiling. He received a noncommittal hum in response. The TARDIS had been monitoring their interaction and attempting to nudge him in the right direction occasionally but she seemed satisfied with how they were proceeding at the moment and was merely listening now. Time and Relative Dimension in Space/Relationship Coach. He snorted and the TARDIS echoed the gesture.

“As I told you before, when Gallifrey was young there were a lot more male Gallifreyans than females, thus the aggressive, possessive claiming which I demonstrated for you first hand in the console room earlier. I don’t really know what came over me, honestly. I wanted you so badly. It was like that was all I could think about...claiming you, making you mine.”

“You mean that wasn’t you?” Rose asked quietly. “It was just some...biological urge?”

“No, no. The biological imperative was there but it was definitely me,” he said, trying to reassure her. “It wouldn’t have happened with just anyone. It was once you told me that you were already mine that it started, remember? Triggered it, that did. Triggered me. There was something already there between us...I was just building on it even though I couldn’t remember. Something about you was calling out to me.”

And it called to him still, drawing him like a moth to a flame, enrapturing him, binding him to her in a way he never wanted to escape. 

“It was the height of commitment, the ultimate promise. Forever, with no one else. And forever for a species that’s practically immortal is quite a commitment,” he said quietly, struggling to remember hurried words in musty lecture halls long ago. He’d listened carefully to those particular lectures, infinitely interested in anything that was different, anything that spoke to the growing part of him that saw more than the other Time Lords saw or wanted him to see. A world of promise and potential beyond the auburn skies of Gallifrey. 

“I think, if I weren’t so...messed up right now, I’d be able to feel all your emotions all the time, your thoughts, every nuance of you. I can feel it on the outside of my shields right now I just can’t take it for very long at the moment,” he said, sadly. 

Rose thought about how her mind had instinctively reached out to his when they were in the shower and his panicked reaction. “I can feel you,” she said softly, unsure of how he would respond.

He jerked his head up in surprise and then his face darkened. “Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. My mind isn’t a good place to be right now,” he said, desperately trying to build up some heavier shields. He hadn’t noticed her in there with all the rest of the chaos. Had he been bombarding her with all of this pain and grief the entire time? Had she seen him doubt her again and again? He felt her reach out to his mind and do the mental equivalent of laying a hand on his shoulder. Not pushing for further intimacy, just there in comfort. He relaxed incrementally and pushed away the panic he had felt and the flash of anger that she had hidden something so important from him. 

“It’s ok, Doctor,” she said, reaching out to lay her hand on top of his across the back of the couch. “It was a bit confusing at first, but the TARDIS has been helping me figure out how to sort through and control it all.” She sent a wave of gratitude and felt the ship pulse warmly back in response.

“It’s odd, though, Rose,” he said slowly. “If you can feel me like that, it means that you’ve claimed me. You wouldn’t be able to do that just from my side of the bond. But I can’t feel your claim...not that you should be able to do it anyway,” he frowned at her, thinking deeply. No one but another Gallifreyan should have been able to match his claim. As he had said, her forever and his were just too different.

“ ‘Course...you’re always proving me wrong, silly little ape,” he finished affectionately. By all standards, she shouldn’t be telepathic either, so again he was just going to have to learn to stop underestimating one Rose Tyler.

“Maybe when we were in the console room I somehow mirrored what you were doing and did it back?” Rose tried.

“No, I would have known. And, honestly, in that state I probably wouldn’t have reacted very well to it so it’s a good thing you didn’t. And...I think maybe it was already in place for you. Probably another reason the urge to claim you was so strong. I felt like I needed to complete the bond. But it’s not complete on my side. Even back with me in the frock coat you could sort of feel me, remember? I didn’t understand it then but I think that must have been what was happening.”

“So I did it sometime then? With the last you?” Rose asked. 

The Doctor frowned again. “No, I would have felt it and remembered and I'd feel it now. I think it was there for you even before that. It must have happened before you ended up in that parallel world. Are you sure we didn’t ever...ah...bond before we got separated?” he asked.

“Yes. Completely sure. I definitely would have remembered ‘bonding’ with you,” she said, trying to break his tense demeanor with a flirt and her tongue between her teeth. It worked marginally. She saw his eyes dart down to her mouth and he licked his lips unconsciously but then the frown returned. 

“Well that’s all I can figure. Your half of the bond is complete now but my side isn’t,” he said finally. “I can’t look at the Timelines and see...yours was always a bit fuzzy even back then and I can’t look at my own properly. Can’t look at any of it properly right now anyway.” His Time sense had been deadened by the loss of the Eye of Harmony and it would take time to learn how to use it again. Frustrated and angry at his own inadequacy once more, he stood up from the couch, dropping her hand. Useless again, he was. 

He’d been sitting still too long and suddenly all he wanted to do was escape from her piercing stare and understanding expression and tempting tongue and, more than anything, the tangled implications of their future. He swiftly retreated from the room without a look back ignoring the feeling of her gaze on him and the tired sigh from the TARDIS. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rose echoed the TARDIS’ sigh and watched him run away yet again. She stood up to follow him, tired of leaving fights half fought and questions unanswered but as she reached the door out of the library, the handle disappeared.

“What are you up to?” she asked the wall irritably, poking the now-useless door with a jab. “Let me out to talk to him!”

The TARDIS steadfastly ignored her and Rose groaned loudly, banging her forehead against the wall. She was glad for the ship’s help and friendship but at the moment the meddling was more frustrating than comforting. She was getting sick and tired of being yelled at and then being abandoned. “You don’t always know what’s best,” she said, glaring at the wall.

Except, she probably did, which only served to make Rose more frustrated. Scowling, she strode back over and sat heavily on the couch. He’d run away to brood and so she would too. He seemed awfully fond of the brooding. Maybe there was something to it.

As it turned out, she wasn’t much of one for brooding. About ten minutes into thinking murderous thoughts about him and his infuriating mood swings she had grown distracted by the beautifully decorated, ancient-looking books on the coffee table. They were all written in the flowing circular diagrams she recognized from the TARDIS viewscreen and the various post-it’s strewn about the ship. Gallifreyan, she took it. Tracing the beautiful patterns with a light finger, she thought it would be nice to know some more about his people if only she could read them...then, as if in answer to her request, the lines and whorls shifted around the page and settled into flowing, English letters. 

“Oh. Thanks,” she muttered to the TARDIS. “This your plan then? Let me read a bit about him while he’s off deciding whether or not I’m worth loving? Oh wait. Not loving. We’ve already established that he can’t do that,” she said snarkily.

A mental poke and a red wave of chastisement swept over her and the TARDIS hummed irritably. That was childish. She knew how the Doctor felt about her even if he didn’t say it. “I’m sorry. I know, I know. But why doesn’t he say it?” she asked out loud. “Why can’t he just admit it? Is that really so much to ask? And is this bond thing really so bad?” The ship didn’t answer her and so Rose turned her attention to the heavy leather bound tomes in front of her, picked up an elegant red one and began to read. Maybe these ancient Time Lords could offer some helpful information to understand hers.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the console room again, the Doctor paced back and forth angrily trying to get his errant emotions back under control. He’d just up and run away from her. Again. This body was so frustrating! And flighty.

All right. So. Thinking. Logic. Lists. What did he know?

They had established that yes, they probably were bonded. It appeared that Rose’s side of the bond was complete and his was half-complete, her tied to him (courtesy of the console room circa two days ago) and him tied to her (an event which she didn’t remember sometime in his future).

The bond itself appeared to be an ancient telepathic Gallifreyan one formerly used for mating purposes which, by all standards, was archaic, outdated and nearly impossible even for two members of a highly evolved, extremely intelligent, telepathic (and emotionally detached) race much less between a defective (although brilliant) genius of an outcast and a stubborn, impossible, and probably equally-brilliant-in-her-own-way human. 

The difference in their life-spans and timelines, like their biology, should have been enough to prevent any such thing from happening. His mood darkened further as he thought about that. She could spend the rest of her life with him but, unless he was incredibly unlucky or unwise with his remaining regenerations, he couldn’t spend the rest of his with her. 

A distant memory of looking at their timelines in his last body surfaced...he had seen his blue one and her pinkish gold weaving in and out of each other in a confusingly intricate pattern for far longer than he thought had been realistic and so he’d ignored it, chalking it up to his inability to see his own Time properly. But maybe...his hearts surged. Maybe he would get to keep her. Maybe, just this once, he would get to be the lucky one and the universe would swing in his direction. 

The TARDIS seemed to be rooting for them anyway. And she also seemed to know a lot more than she was telling.

Turning back toward the hall, he was going to go to Rose and talk to her. Or kiss her. Yes, kissing. It had been far too long since he kissed her. That seemed like a good thing to do. Wait...would she slap him again? Maybe he should talk to her and THEN kiss her. And then show her all the other things he remembered from his last body in a bed, in a proper, love-making fashion. No walls. Unless she wanted walls.

Just as he reached the door out of the room an impossible sound rang out from the console. Whirling back, all thoughts of kissing Rose went to the back of his mind and he rushed over to find the source of the din because it couldn’t possibly be what he thought it was. There was no way.

His Gallifreyan communication device was sending out an SOS. 

But it was impossible.

Only another Time Lord could contact him on that device. And there were no other Time Lords.

Were there?

The call rang out again and he blindly set the coordinates to match it. The TARDIS groaned and whined and he gripped the console tightly, mind reeling and desperate hope crashing through him. Could it be? Was he not alone? Another stroke of luck for him? Chalk two up for the Doctor?

They landed with a shudder and a bump and he didn’t even spare a cringe for the newly inelegant landings he was going to have to get used to. Should he run and get Rose? He bullied his mind into scanning the perimeter for another telepathic signal. His breath caught.

There was no mistaking the feel of the mind on the other side of the door. It was a Time Lord.

He wasn’t alone.

Without even bothering to check where or when he was, hearts in his throat, he wrenched open the door.


	6. Nine VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out just exactly who is on the other side of that door, there is much tension and Nine gets to do something we all wished we could do have done after a certain particular episode. (And no, not that. No slash in my fics, sorry).
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, man! This chapter was very difficult to write, bandying all those personal pronouns around. Hopefully it's clear who is speaking. This chapter is, of course, from Nine's point of view. And, in case you're worried, I do in fact love the other person mentioned in this chapter (even if he is a bit of a jerk in this favourite-to-rewrite-of-mine episode) but remember this is from Nine's POV and he....well...doesn't. ;) When the time comes, we'll get a chapter of the same events told from the opposite point of view.   
> Did anyone guess the cliffhanger right?

There was no mistaking the feel of the mind on the other side of the door. It was a Time Lord.

He wasn’t alone.

Without even bothering to check where or when he was, hearts in his throat, he wrenched open the door. 

He blindly propelled himself out of the TARDIS, desperately scanning the landscape for the Time Lord whose mind he had felt. He could barely breathe. Another Time Lord! Someone else had survived! He heard a slight skitter of gravel to his right and spun on his booted heel to face the only other remnant of his once proud race. 

“You!” he exclaimed, pushing a steadying hand back into the TARDIS and grabbing for the doorframe. No, no, no. This was not the way it was supposed to go at all.

“Weeeellll, yes, I suppose that’s right. Although, it might be more appropriate to say ‘me!’ because, after all, that’s who I am,” rattled off the entirely unwelcome vision of brown pinstripes standing in front of him, beaming.

“But...I thought...I thought you would be...” he trailed off helplessly, moving back to lean on the TARDIS more fully. He should have known not to get his hopes up. 

And of all the hims he wouldn’t have minded seeing, this one was not included.

“Oh,” the pretty one said, his face dropping its grin and peering at his younger self with concern. “You thought I was another Time Lord, didn’t you?,” he finished quietly. The despondent, shell-shocked man leaning against the TARDIS jerked his head once.

“I’m sorry,” the later Doctor said quietly, scuffing a trainer in the dirt. 

Trainers? With a suit?

““How...how long after the war is it?” his older self asked tentatively. 

“Not long,” he responded, the pain showing clearly in his voice and on his face. He should have known better than to hope. What had hope alone gotten him in recent years? Nothing.

They both stood silently, neither looking the other in the eye, trying to figure out where to go next. The jumper-clad Doctor pushed away his crushing disappointment and heavy hearts to focus on the current situation. Why had his future self called him here? There was really no reason to...unless...

This time he didn’t mind the emotion swing.

“You can’t have her yet,” he said venomously, advancing on his slightly taller form with all the menace he could muster up. And, if it could do anything, this form could definitely do menace. “I’m not ready.”

How had this man known he had Rose? He couldn’t give her up yet. He wouldn’t. Losing her loomed at him on the horizon but he had been steadfastly ignoring it. She said as long as he needed her, she’d stay. And he was going to hold her to it.

“Can’t have who? What are you talking about?” sputtered the other man, hopping back from the suddenly-advancing, very prickly, previous version of himself. 

“If that's not why you called me...what did you call me for?” the younger version asked, dropping his menace and replacing it with confusion.

Pinstripes frowned at him for a moment, clearly not happy about his question-for-a-question answer, but the frown just as quickly dropped away into a grin. “Transdimensionally and intergalactically sticking my thumb out, you might say! Needed to hitch a ride with one of you and...WHAM! here you are.” 

“Where’s your TARDIS?” asked the jumper-clad Doctor, suspiciously.

“Ooooo, well, bit hard to say, that. Spaceship, 51st Century but other than that I’m pretty well stymied. Oh! That’s a nice word. Stymied! Stymied, stymied, stymied,” he chattered, seemingly oblivious to the disgusted, disbelieving look being shot his direction.

Didn’t this guy ever stop talking? “Where’s Rose?” 

“With the TARDIS, of course,” Pinstripes answered, shooting him a look like he had dribbled on his shirt.

“Is she safe?” he continued, undaunted. He knew that look and it wasn't going to faze him. Rose was what mattered now. Was the idiot about to lose her? What if, when he took him back, Rose was gone? She hadn’t told him when they’d gotten separated. Of course, Pinstripes here hadn’t mentioned Cybermen, so that was unlikely.

Pinstripes goggled at him. “Of course she’s safe! She’s with the TARDIS. The clockwork droids should have all shut down when I destroyed the time window.”

“Should have?” he growled with a raised eyebrow and an arm cross that said more than ten words could have, combined. 

“Uh, I think,” the next Doctor finished a bit uncertainly, shifting awkwardly and pulling at his ear. 

“You think?” his previous incarnation ground out through clenched teeth, dropping his arms and tensing his hands into fists. 

If future him had been paying attention, he might have recognized the warning signs being exuded. Rose and Jack certainly would have. This was their cue to abandon argument they’d been having with him (or Jack’s cue to tone down the flirting with Rose - or the Doctor) or to make a run for the TARDIS, depending on whether the tone and actions were pointed toward them or a very unfortunate enemy.

“Well, yes. I mean, that’s probably what happened. But she always manages to find trouble, Rose does,” he trailed off, frowning slightly again and then shaking it off. “But I don’t have to tell you that!” he said, clapping his hands together and grinning again as if sharing a big joke with the stoic version of himself who reacted to it simply with a scowl. 

That wasn’t funny. This pretty idiot was laughing at Rose being in danger? He had never liked this version due to his jealousy of Rose’s attention but now he was beginning to dislike him for, well, him.

“Last time I popped through one of those windows I got back just in time to find her strapped to a table about to have her brain cut out by a clockwork droid,” Pinstripes said conversationally, as if he was merely recounting an episode of EastEnders, ignoring the horrified look thrown at him. “Anyway, bit keen to get back there, actually, so let’s hop to it, shall we?” he said, bending to pick up the scattered objects at his feet.

The younger version of himself was taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. It wouldn’t do to go punching himself. None of his incarnations ever got on well and they certainly didn’t need a white-haired, crotchety first Doctor showing up to chastise them into cooperating. Plus if the other fellow was suddenly unconscious...he’d just have to carry him. He just needed to get through the next few minutes with the pretty one, take him back to past Rose and then he’d be back to being alone with his own Rose.

Oh, no. 

Rose. 

She couldn’t see this future him yet. It wasn’t the right time. This one still had a Rose, even if his increasing thought was that the good-looking prat didn’t deserve her. But then, of course, neither did he.

For how much longer would this man have her?, he wondered. Not long probably, if this was pretty boy’s attitude toward her, he thought darkly. The Doctor hoped fervently that the TARDIS was keeping Rose in the dark about this whole situation. He’d tell her when it was over.

“Why did you call me specifically?” he asked, proud at the level sound of his voice. So managing the temper was possible.

“Sent it out to everyone, actually. You must have been the closest,” the wild-haired one replied excitedly, gesturing to the complex mass of seemingly random objects compiled together at his feet into a haphazard comm device rather ingeniously, he thought begrudgingly . Little did he know, Pinstripes was actually quite glad it was him that had shown up, knowing that this slightly-surly version of himself would understand the need to get back to Rose. The old grump cared about her enough to want to get him back to her quickly, even if, at whatever point in his Timeline he was, the sarcastic one wasn’t ready to admit it. “Really a quite brilliant piece of work, if I do say so myself. Cobbled it together from the contents of my pockets,” the man finished proudly.

“Your pockets,” he repeated.

“Yep!” the older version answered gleefully, popping the ‘p’ as he had heard Rose do many times. He wondered absently which one of them had started that habit. “Not like I was going to find anything in 18th century Versailles to help me construct a telepathic communication device.”

“I suppose no-...wait. Where did you say we are?” he asked, his voice going low and cold, his eyes turning to a stormy ice. Warning sign #1.

“Versailles. I should think you’d be able to hear with those ears,” Pinstripes retorted, fiddling with the device in his hands and shoving pieces of it back in the copious pockets of his coat. He paused for a moment. “Sorry. That was rude. Rose is always on me about that.”

“Versailles. Versailles, France,” the younger Doctor repeated slowly and evenly, his hands clenching back into fists. Warning sign #2.

Pinstripes raised a cocky eyebrow at him. “Well, yes. Obviously not Versailles the planet as we are not currently asphyxiating on methane gas.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, his lean body a hard, stiff, angry line, advancing toward the older Time Lord who stood his ground with wide eyes. “You’ve just swanned off on some pointless jaunt to France, leaving Rose, alone, in the 51st century on a nameless spaceship you don’t know the actual location of; a spaceship that also happens to be filled with murderous clockwork droids?” 

“Oi! What do you take me for? She’s not alone. She’s got Mr. Mickey,” Pinstripes answered, ignoring the surprised, darkened look that crossed the other man’s face at Mickey’s name. “And it was not a ‘pointless jaunt’. I had to save the Timelines. The droids were after Madame Du Pompadour. HA! Who, by the way, snogged me for my troubles,” the man crowed, triumphantly. 

An angry little vein popped out on his jaw as teeth clenched. 

Warning sign #3.

Completely oblivious, his later form just kept talking, “It was an all right kiss, as far as kisses go, I suppose...could have done with some dental hygiene back then, of course. Not that we have much experience kissing humans. Actually, haven’t ever done that recently, have we?. Oh, right. ‘Cept when Rose got possessed by that psychotic flap of skin.” An increasingly murderous rage was building up behind ice blue eyes, still unnoticed. “Well, and then on Satel-...oh, never mind about that,” the chattering continued, with a nervous laugh.

“But anyway, the kiss itself was pleasant enough. ‘Course she should be good at kissing, she was a courtesan. Madame Du Pompadour, that is. Not Rose. Rose isn’t a courtesan, of course. Had a dance with her, too, some sort of stiff formal thing with handkerchiefs...first dance in this body. That’s one for the scrapbook. Nothing like having one of the most famous lovers in all of history for your first dance! And I was quite good at the dancing, if I do say so myself and her! She was fantastic! A bit handsy for the 18th century though, I thought...” he trailed off a moment, shaking his head.

“Felt weird, though, painful almost, like it was wrong someho-...”

An observant man would have noticed the signs. 

A clever man would have stopped talking. 

A wise man would have ducked.

One single swift moment and a very loud crack later, one Time Lord was lying unconscious in the grass while the other, panting and shaking out a sore fist, stood over the first’s body.

Oh, damn. There he’d gone and done it. He’d let his temper get out of control. Again.

And now he WAS going to have to carry skinny boy into the TARDIS. He couldn’t just leave him here. He nudged the other him with his foot. Past Rose deserved to get him back even if Pinstripes didn’t deserve her.

Of course, he didn’t deserve her now either but at least HE’D never leave her alone with murderous droids while he was off kissing other women.

Except he had. He would.

He had kissed another woman. He would.

And had left her, alone and unprotected. He would.

He hadn’t thought it was possible to hate himself anymore than he already did. He was wrong.

Mickey was right. He’d deserved that punch.

What was he going to turn into? Something even worse than he was now, apparently. Would he not need her in the future? This man didn’t act like he really cared that much about getting back to her. Would he really be so complacent in the future? So obtuse? Such an idiot?

This was ROSE. He needed her so badly now it was like she was oxygen and he was a suffocating man, like she was food and he was starving. Later, when he seemed better, seemed somewhat healed from the vicious wounds he suffered from now wouldn’t he need her still?

Ice water ran through his veins even as he shivered, the cool night air of France cutting through his jumper. What if future him, Rose’s future him, didn’t need her, didn’t want her back? Two days into meeting her he’d decided that wasn’t possible but with what he was seeing now...what if he really had left her in that parallel world on purpose with no idea that his past selves would be along to bring her back? Impossibly...what if he’d found someone else?

But that shouldn’t be possible. Not with the bond. He made a loud noise of frustration and resisted the urge to use his foot against that obnoxious brown coat again. Instead of picking up the skinny man, he settled for grabbing the back of the multiple collars and started dragging.

About half-way through the door a groan then an indignant noise came from the dead weight in his hand, a dead weight that apparently didn’t appreciate being dragged around by the scruff of its neck.

“Was that really necessary? Either part of it?” Pinstripes said irritably, picking himself off the grating and brushing off his long coat. 

He leveled a long, hard look at the other man, blue eyes into brown. “Yes.”

Scowls were exchanged across the console and, for the first time, blue eyes found a hint of their own steel hidden in the brown depth. “Fine then. Why did you feel it was necessary to punch me?”

“Does it need saying?” he responded.

“Of course it does. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked,” his later form responded in a short, clipped manner.

“You left her. If I hadn’t come along you’d be stuck there and she’d be trapped at some undetermined, dangerous place in the future. Forever,” he countered, opening his mouth to add to the list and shifting into his angry position once again. “She could be hurt. She could be sick or bleeding or held prisoner or be dea-”

“You think I don’t know that? That I haven’t been thinking about that this whole time? That I haven’t gone through every possible horrendous thing that could have happened to her or be happening to her because I’ve been stuck in bloody FRANCE? ” the lanky man suddenly roared, his own teeth clenched and his hands in fists. Strange, that. It was like looking into an eerie mirror of yourself that wasn’t you, like in a dream. Undeterred, the taller Time Lord’s ranting continued. “I’ve spent the last several years avoiding France for some reason I can’t seem to remember at the moment and then I up and almost landed myself here for good. I can’t contact her, I can’t feel her and it’s taken me two weeks of dodging about the French countryside avoiding castle guards and handsy blondes and angry kings just to get a hold of you! I’ve had enough of the slow path, thank you very much, so quit lecturing me about the possibilities and get me back where I’m supposed to be or, so help me Rassilon, I’ll commandeer your TARDIS and get there myself!” Speech finally finished, chest heaving and staring daggers at him, Pinstripes glowered and crossed his own arms, waiting for a response.

“You really do talk a lot, don’t you?” he said, a bit of a sneer still in his voice. They weren’t done quite yet.

“Yes. Got quite a gob this time around. Are we done now?”

“No,” he said, crossing his arms, eyes still narrowed.

“What else? Don’t like the way I dress? The way I look? Too bad. I’m you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Rose likes it anyway,” Pinstripes said, the cockiness back in his voice, striking out to hurt the other version of himself. 

He tried to ignore the powerful surge of renewed jealousy at those words, remembering a hurried fight in Rose’s flat about this prat. “You kissed her,” he said, evenly, his face a calm mask.

“Who? Rose? Yes, I did. Don’t think it counts though, because she was possessed at the time,” Pinstripes said, waving a hand and looking uncomfortable, running a hand through errant hair. “It didn’t mean anything,” the suddenly subdued Time Lord finished softly.

If the jumper-clad Doctor hadn’t been so focused on the word “possessed” he might have noticed the note of infinite sadness in the older him’s voice but as it was he simply gaped at himself, arms falling limply to his sides. No, no, no. It sounded like that would have been their first kiss, for Rose anyway, and she hadn’t been herself. How awful for her. And pretty boy had let her get possessed? 

And, hang on, since when did kissing Rose not mean ANYTHING? His future was beginning to look bleaker and bleaker by the moment. He should have known better than to hope for anything better. 

What was he going to tell his Rose?

He shook his head. He’d work that out later. For now, they needed to finish this. “No. I didn’t mean Rose, although don’t think that I’m ok with the fact that you let her get possessed -” He was interrupted by a higher pitched voice.

“I didn’t ‘let’ her get possessed! I only left her alone for a few minutes and -” 

“Exactly. You left her,” he interrupted coldly right back. “You’re an idiot. No wonder you lose her.” Before the other man could think too much about that sentence, he barreled on. “Did you abandon her to kiss a fucking French whore that time, too?” 

“Oi! Language! Forgot that about this body. And Reinette wasn’t a whore and you know it.”

“Oh, Reinette, is it? On a first name basis with her, are you?”

“Is that what this is about? Yes, I know her name. Yes, she got into my head and yes, she kissed me. Why is it such a big deal to you?”

“What would Rose think?” he asked quietly, trying to take some measure of this man’s relationship to the precious girl that was hidden somewhere in the bowels of his ship. The TARDIS seemed to be hiding her. He was glad.

The flicker of sadness returned to the freckled face and this time he didn’t miss it. “It doesn’t matter,” a strained voice replied.

“Doesn’t it?” he pressed, not willing to give up. Maybe he could still hope.

The sadness disappeared from the pale freckled face in front of him, replaced with a calm, practiced expression. “No. It doesn’t. Rose doesn’t own me,” a cold, schooled voice he almost didn’t recognize ground out. 

“Doesn’t she?” he asked quietly.

Once again, eyes locked, an unidentifiable emotion passing between them and two mirrors of the same man fought to decipher each other. Brown eyes broke first, as their owner turned away to jerk a lever on the console.

“Oi! Hands off my TARDIS, pretty boy!” he yelled, smacking away the offending hand.

“Then stop staring at me and get me back. Who knows what Mickey’s managed to do to my magnificent Timeship while I’ve been away! Besides, it’ll be easier to pilot with two of us.”

Studying his counterpart closely, the owner of the blue eyes decided to ease up. “Fine. When did you leave her?” he said, watching for the slight cringe of shoulders at his words and moving aside to silently set the coordinates in response to the mumbled response. 

It was much easier to fly with two sets of hands and, once again, he felt a wave of grief crash over him knowing that there would never be another set of hands to help him. He’d always preferred to pilot the TARDIS alone, but he COULD have always asked for help. But not now. Not anymore. They were gone. His older self looked up at him with an unreadable expression and he knew that the older man had felt his emotions. It felt comforting to have another Gallifreyan mind in his, even if it was the rather strange experience of it being his own. Since it was him, after all, the contact wasn’t as overwhelming as it was when Rose had attempted to connect with him.

Oh, no. Rose. Could the other Time Lord feel her like he could? Surely Pinstripes would know something was odd. As if on the same wavelength (well, they were the same men, after all) Pinstripes looked around him, suddenly. “Where’s your Rose?” he asked.

“Can’t you feel her?” A question for a question and an attempt to gain information, subtly.

“That’s really quite annoying, you know. Always answering my questions with a question.” 

Ah, not so subtle then.

“Quite a good tactic; used it quite often myself - well, you are me, so that’s using it myself as well, but it’s annoying nonetheless. But, to avoid getting stuck in an infinite annoying question loop, no, I can’t feel her, which is odd.” the brown-suited Doctor continued good-naturedly, his annoyance fading away quickly. Still into mood swings, then. Just more light-hearted ones. “I can always feel her,” finished Pinstripes.

“And you don’t think that’s odd?” he pressed, trying to figure out how much this later him knew about the bond. 

“Nope, sorry, no more questions from you until I get an answer. Where’s your Rose?”

“She’s here. In the library, I think. The TARDIS must be hiding her from you,” he responded, honestly. And hiding ‘her Doctor’, he thought with annoyance, from her.

“Oh.” The cheerful face fell quickly into disappointment. “I miss her,” the younger-looking but older man said quietly. “I would never abandon her, you know. Not her. Not Rose.” The last part was said so softly it seemed like he was saying it more to himself than his other incarnation.

The younger Doctor sighed in relief. Whatever was going on in his future head, it looked like he still needed Rose after all. He decided to let the skinny suit off the hook. “Got to keep her away. Wouldn’t do for her to run into you,” he said gruffly.

A mischievous sparkle shot back into the boyish face glowing at him in the light of the Time Rotor. “Why’s that? Afraid she’ll throw herself at me?” teased a playful voice.

Yes, in fact, he was. But not for the reason this man thought she would. “Well, you are a bit pretty,” he said, hiding behind his customary brusqueness.

“Hah! That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll ever say! Thank you! ” crowed Pinstripes in a fashion that reminded him very strongly of the man he had been before, the first version to fall for Rose.

Before he could retort the TARDIS came to a loud, grinding, lurching halt, throwing both men to the floor.

Pinstripes bounced to his feet, delight written all over his face, offering a hand to his younger self, pulling him up and glancing at the monitor. “Righty-o! Here we are! Ugh, ‘righty-o’? I am never saying that again. Anyway, Spaceship, 51st century! I can feel my TARDIS out there. And Rose, too! Wonderful. When did you set us to get here?” 

“Five and a half hours after you left,” he lied, remembering what Mickey had said. Hopefully he’d managed to get it right.

“What? Why did you do that? You could have brought me back right after I left!” The delight disappeared and the higher-pitched, irritated voice was back. If they weren’t careful it was going to turn into an all out fight again.

“Because you’re still a git and you deserve her being angry with you,” he said, firmly. And Mickey being angry with him. That, and the Timelines demanded it.

Offended again, Pinstripes opened his mouth to answer and then shut it, hanging his head slightly, apparently rethinking whatever argument he had been going to present. “Fine. I suppose you’re probably right. At least we’re far enough away in the ship that she won’t have heard us. That’s good. Don’t want her running into you,” the older man said heavily, throwing his words back at him..

“What? Afraid she’ll throw herself at me?” he responded, throwing the tease back again.

“Yes, in fact,” came the quiet, dark response, coloured by a jealous tone he recognized well. Hah. So Rose would miss him, this him, too. That was a relief, especially knowing that, apparently, he wouldn’t get much time with her in this body in its proper Timeline, anyway. 

Older him clapped his hands together. “I’m off, then. Rose is waiting. Thanks to you. Hopefully she doesn’t slap me.” He looked nervous and he was practically vibrating with energy and tension.

The jumper-clad Doctor leaned against the bookshelf in the console room and watched as his older self walked over to the doors, throwing them open and bounding out, casting one last backward glance over his shoulder.

“Oi! Pretty boy!” he called, when both dirty white trainers had disappeared out the door. A wild-haired head poked back through the blue door. 

“Yes?” drawled the voice.

“That kiss. The first one. You sure it didn’t mean anything?” he asked, quietly. He had to know. 

A soft smile lit the features of the boyish face just visible in the doorway. “Oh...that wasn’t the first one.” The smile dimmed slightly with a remembered memory. “The first one...” he trailed off for a moment and looked meaningfully across the room one last time, meeting blue eyes with brown, past with future.

“It meant everything,” came the voice of his future before disappearing out the door with its owner back where it belonged. 

He sighed. He supposed he would understand that enigmatic comment someday. As for now...

He had some apologizing to do.


	7. Nine VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine gets in his apology in a rather grandiose fashion and Rose teaches him how to remember a few things he's forgotten along the way.

The Doctor trudged down the hall to the library toward Rose, trying to figure out what he was going to say to her. “I’m sorry” seemed to be a good starting place but he hadn’t gotten much farther than that. He approached the door several times only to walk straight past, once getting so far as to reach a hand out for the doorknob before retracting it and continuing his pacing. The hallway seemed to get shorter and shorter with each of his unsuccessful passes and eventually the TARDIS had him trapped in a corner with his only options being to walk out of the small space backwards or to go in.

He chose to go in. 

Rose was sitting on the couch where he had left her, legs folded up underneath her body and one of the large, heavy Gallifreyan books across her lap. The TARDIS must be translating for her. She was frowning in concentration and her blonde hair had fallen forward over her eyes. He watched as she stopped chewing on her lip long enough to blow it away before returning to the page in front of her. 

He studied her and her chosen reading material closer. It was the red book, a textbook from a class on Time Lord customs he’d been forced to take as a very young man at the Academy. Hours and hours of memorizing long speeches and gestures, the proper forms of social interactions and acceptable rules and procedures for situations of all kinds.

Hang on. Maybe that could help him.

He coughed slightly from his position to the side of the couch, not wanting to startle her. She jumped anyway and turned surprised eyes up to face him from her position. She did not, he noticed, smile at him. A little part inside of him winced. He probably deserved that.

Well, if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right. He pulled himself up to his full height, bowed his head and clasped his hands in front of him in a posture of humility. He hoped she had read that part.

Rose, surprised from her concentrated reverie by his sudden entrance, unfolded her legs and shifted the book on her lap, watching him warily. They had a lot to talk about but how could she know if he was here to do that? Which version of him was this? The angry, surly one? The guilt-ridden, depressed one? The randy, possessive one? They were all him and they were all hers, for better or for worse. She hoped tonight that it was for the better.

He hadn’t spoken yet, which was strange for any of him. He did love to talk. He was also standing a bit oddly, hands clasped in front of his body as she had never seen him do and his eyes were watching her carefully as if he was waiting for her to do something. 

Well, she was tired of being the one to do things. He could do it first this time. His eyes flickered from hers down to the red book in her lap and she felt the TARDIS nudge her gently. 

Oh! The book. She had been flipping through the pages of his book, translated by the TARDIS, reading about Time Lord customs, astounded by the rigid, overwhelmingly complex constructs of their society. The book appeared to be a sort of Miss Manners guide to social situations, full of rituals and formal responses of all kinds, for all situations. 

Hands clasped, head bowed...wait, she had read that somewhere....ah. So he was doing something first.

He was silently requesting permission to approach her, taking the submissive role and awaiting her approval. She flipped through the pages momentarily and, finding the one she was looking for, met his eyes confidently and nodded to him, gesturing widely with her arm in permission for him to come closer. He nudged the coffee table out of the way with his foot and moved to stand in front of her, still at a respectful distance.

He shifted nervously. He’d had to brush up on many of these rituals upon his arrival back to Gallifrey, especially when Romana made him a General in her army and he had been expected to play nice with the other Time Lords. He had usually found these formalities cumbersome and distasteful, too strict and too stiff, high on tradition and low on sincerity. He had rarely ever meant one of them. 

He did now.

Page 452 he said to her, mentally, shields fully up, communicating like a proper telepath instead of a love-sick boy. Dropping to one knee in front of her, he twisted his right hand sideways, placing it on his sternum between his hearts - a symbol of his remorse - and bowed his head once again.

She blinked in surprise at his mental communication and new position, but flipped through the book silently and, taking the hint from him, left her shields up as well.

”I, Theta Sigma, humbled member of the Lungbarrow House, seek an audience with you, madam.” She probably wouldn’t understand the significance of offering her this name, another facet of his past but they could talk about that later. 

Rose looked at him in surprise, again. She had never heard him call himself anything other than “The Doctor” and it had never really occurred to her that he had another name, a normal name. Not that Theta Sigma was much more “normal” than “the Doctor”. But then when was he ever normal?

Reading from the book, she answered in stilted speech, “I, Dame Rose Tyler,” his head lifted momentarily to twinkle blue eyes at her - there must be a story there- and she smiled down at him before replacing her expression with that of the calm stoicism she pictured a female Time Lord would wear before continuing, “proud member of...of the Powell Estate, grant your request. You, uh, you may rise, humble Son of Gallifrey.” A small sliver of pain appeared in his blue eyes at the mention of his dead planet but he closed them for a moment and when they opened again, it was gone.

He climbed to his feet and let his hands fall to his sides once again. “I beseech you, o Lady, to forgive me the great trespasses I have committed against you and the proud house of the Powell Estate,” he said seriously. “I submit my most respectful apologies for my actions and my behaviour.”This was probably the first time in all of his lives that he had ever performed this ceremony with any real meaning. And, in his younger years, he had performed this particular ritual a lot.

Rose glanced down at the book in front of her. She now had two options..to accept or reject his apology and there were a litany of consequences for either option. Her choice was easy in the end, but she did hope they would be talking about it less formal terms eventually. She did appreciate his efforts to reach out to her, to include her in his world, even in this small manner. It was probably very difficult for him and she understood that this was his way of trying to make it up to her.

“Your words of apology are accepted,” she said, watching as relief flooded his face. She looked at him uncertainly as she read over the next part of the “acceptance” script. He, however, nodded to her briefly and so she continued, “Who represents you in this exchange and what have you brought the Powell Estate in re...recompense for your thoughtless words and careless actions?” Ouch. Thoughtless words and careless actions. Those Time Lords really knew how to twist the knife.

The Doctor reached down to remove the heavy book from her lap and pulled Rose to her feet in front of him, taking both of her small, warm hands into his large, cool ones. There was no more script for what he was going to say, no more outline, no more Time Lord precedent. This was merely them. The Doctor and Rose Tyler. In the TARDIS. As it should be.

He hoped.

Out loud, in lilting Gallifreyan, he answered, “I stand for myself, dear Daughter of Earth, as there are none to stand for me.” Tears prickled the corners of Rose’s eyes and he raised a calloused thumb to swipe a fallen one from her cheek, then moving the hand to cup the side of her face. Her ears heard the musical syllables, still wonderously tinged Northern, and the TARDIS translated their meaning in her mind.

Little did she know, there would have been no one to stand for him on Gallifrey, either; no one willing to take responsibility for the small, strange boy who spoke too much, asked too many questions and refused to accept his place. Lungbarrow had only taken him out of duty to his wealthy genetic father, a man who had very quickly severed ties with him once it appeared that he was “irredeemable”. His academics had shown early promise but soon they had become overshadowed by his outlandish, rebellious behaviour and propensity for trouble. The Time Lords had made it quite clear early on that they would not stand by his oddity, would not abide his eccentricities - especially his fondness for off-worlders, and would most certainly not allow him to discolour their stately legacy.

How Time changed. Now they were all gone and he stood alone to represent them to the rest of the universe they had shunned. Their precious legacy now lived on solely between the covers of these dusty tomes, in the memory of an outcast and, now, in the eyes of a small pink and yellow human they would have regarded as little more than a sentient ape.

“As for recompense, I have little to offer you,” he continued, pushing those thoughts away to instead focus on her. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot, now. This stately verbiage was awkward in the Northern burr, much better suited to the Regency accent of his predecessor, but he was doing his best. “I have no great share of wealth, no kingdom of land, no promise of power,” he continued, sadly. 

Rose opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and felt her warm chin rise and fall against his palm as she nodded, letting him finish. “I realize that my transgressions against you, both past,” he paused, thinking of hurtful words and misconceptions and turned backs, “and future,” apparently including but not limited to abandonment with murderous droids, allowing demonic possession, and kissing other women...well, one other woman. He hoped. “are many, but I swear to you that I will do better. I will be better and someday, perhaps, I will deserve you. And so, I offer you only and all of what I have left: a home to share, a hand to hold and my hearts for now until eternity.”

She stared at him in wonder, floored by his words, overwhelmed by his gesture. That’s all she’d ever wanted from him. She didn’t need riches or mansions or even white picket fences, for that matter. Just him, just only ever him. The Doctor and Rose Tyler. In the TARDIS. As it should be.

And to come from him, this him, torn and tattered as he was, not from the romantic dreamer he had been or even the silver-tongued maverick he would become, it meant even more. She’d never imagined a confession like that from him...perhaps it was the freedom of his own language or the guise of the formal speech. In fact, it had sounded like a proposal. Her heart felt as though it would burst with love for him and the tears returned to her eyes, hoping that he would would understand.

“Do you accept my terms, Dame Rose of the Powell Estate, Daughter of Earth?” he asked, quietly, tentatively, moving his hand back from her face down to intertwine their fingers once again and watching her desperately with those searching blue eyes.

“I accept, Theta Sigma,” she said and he shivered as her tongue caressed the syllables of that name, meaning so much more coming from her than it ever had in his past, “of the Lungbarrow House, Son of Gallifrey,” she finished, surprised to hear the TARDIS translating her words into the silvery tones his language, hoping desperately that she had said what he wanted to hear.

They stood, staring at each other, both afraid to move, afraid to break the spell that their revised enactment had cast. It was Rose that moved first, tipping her chin up ever so slightly in invitation for a kiss, an invitation he took immediately. His mouth descended on hers, his tongue instantly sliding along her bottom lip, requesting access which was quickly granted. The first two times he’d kissed her like this, she had acquiesced, letting him be in control and plunder her mouth. It seemed, however, she was done with that. It was the alley all over again, except this time she had no intentions of stopping. 

Neither did he.

She pushed back against him and suddenly he was sitting on the arm of the couch with her clamped between his thighs, her tongue gliding through his mouth, against his cool tongue, under it, over his teeth and, to a deep shudder of approval, across the roof of his mouth. She poured everything she could into that kiss, trying to convey to him her love and her affection for him and his quirks, all of them. He would never have to stand alone again, not if she could help it.

Rose pulled back just as suddenly, panting for breath, chest heaving in a manner of which he was a rather big fan, pupils dilated. The Doctor pushed to his feet and stepped toward her. His body was starting to take over, telling him to keep her pressed to him, to turn her around against the back of the couch and prove to her and everyone else that this magnificent woman was his. Several times, preferably. The smell of her was certainly indicating approval. He had smelled the rush of heat surge through her body, readying itself for him, had felt it when she had been pressed up against him. 

He moved forward to place his hands on her shoulders, to rip that little shirt off her and turn her around but she surprised him by taking another step backward, lowering her eyes from his. He was taken off guard by the sudden prickling of her thoughts against his, unsure and a little nervous. Nervous? He didn’t like that. Dropping his hands and panting himself, he closed his eyes and focused on pushing away his overwhelming instincts.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused and disappointed. If she didn’t want...then why had she? And she had accepted his apology. Called him by his Gallifreyan nickname. Was she still angry?

“I...nothing,” Rose mumbled to herself. She had felt his pressing, commanding thoughts and his aggressive picture of the couch across the link and much as she wanted him, she didn’t want it like that. Queen of mixed messages, here, she thought, snogging him like that and then pulling back. But he had just been so ineffably sweet and tentative. She had suddenly realized that she wanted that, wanted to make love to him, this him, not claim or be claimed. They’d already done that bit. Twice.

“There’s something or we’d be naked already,” he said, pointedly, raising an eyebrow. To his surprise, Rose gave a short, unexpected laugh.

“What?” he said, defensively. He really was completely out of his depth here and he did not understand what was going on. Women. Or, more directly, woman. This one.

“S’just you,” she said, with a sweet smile. “You’re always so direct. ‘I changed my jumper!’,” she said, in her best Northern impression, giggling again at his confused expression. “ ‘We’d be naked by now’,” she repeated, spreading her feet wide and crossing her arms across her chest in, what he guessed, was an impression of him. 

“Point still stands,” he said, crossing his arms without thinking about it, eliciting another giggle from her. “What’s wrong, then?”

Rose took a deep breath and the smile dropped from her face. She moved her arms to fiddle with the bottom of her button up shirt, not looking him in the eye again, biting her lip nervously in a manner he recognized. “I want to and the couch thing seems, uh, fun.” He started, realizing she must have caught that image from him. “But, it’s just, I mean, I want...” she trailed off, looking at him from under her lashes in a way that was decidedly NOT helping him get back under control.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Can we go slow this time?” she finally said. “I miss that,” she said quietly, her voice taking on a distant quality he recognized but this time she was looking backward for him instead of forward.

"Not,” she stumbled to cover at his hurt expression, “not that it’s not been really great, ‘cause it has but...oh, bugger. Sorry. Gone and ruined the mood,” she finished sadly, hazarding a glance from his offended face directly down to now perfectly roomy jeans and turning from him. Great job, there, Rose, she thought to herself. He just makes this grand romantic gesture and wants you again and...what do you do? Mess it up.

The Doctor struggled through the myriad of emotions crashing in on him now: hurt that she wanted something else, jealousy of the past man he could never be again, shame that he couldn’t control this errant body better and the pain of watching her turn away from him. Hadn’t he just said that he’d try better?

He reached out and grabbed her retreating hand. “We can do that. I, but....you, you’re going to have to help me, Rose. I don’t think I remember how,” he said, sadly. 

She happily turned bright eyes and a brilliant smile up to face him again and relief replaced all those other feelings, relighting his hearts. “Well, let’s see if I can jog your memory,” she said, sticking her tongue between her teeth and grabbing his hand to flounce from the library.

Back in his room once more, Rose stopped near the bed to turn and face him. He watched her closely, unaccountably nervous again. She reached a hand out and laid it over his right heart, feeling its tempo increase at her touch. “I just want to say...I really appreciate what you said earlier,” she whispered to him. 

His face softened and he leaned in to rest his forehead on hers. “I meant it,” he answered.

“I know,” she responded, turning her face slightly so their lips connected lightly. The Doctor kept his hands to his sides, itching to touch her but letting her lead the way. She languidly explored his lips, keeping her tongue to herself and gradually began to wander down, over his jaw and his adam’s apple. He swallowed hard, focusing on keeping his hips and his hands still. He succeeded until she nipped at his double pulse point. He let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. 

“You can’t do that, Rose, not if you want to go slow,” he ground out, and she felt the vibrations of his words in his neck. She gently licked the spot her teeth had grazed and worked her way back up to his lips, slipping her hands under his shirts and over the hard muscles of his chest. Pulling back from his mouth reluctantly, she pulled the jumper and undershirt over his head and then stood back to admire him.

“Undress me?” she said, quietly, a request not a demand.

He stepped forward and, with slightly shaking fingers from barely controlled restraint, he slowly unbuttoned her top with only one stubborn button as a casualty. With the shirt undone, he made quick work of her bra and then reached out to caress her, smiling wolfishly as her nipples pebbled instantly at his touch and she made a noise in the back of her throat that almost broke him immediately.

She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him up against her, making him hiss as his cool, hard torso suddenly came in full contact with her blazing, soft one. For a moment he forgot her request and suddenly Rose found herself flat on her back, fully on the bed under him, jeans being pulled off her ankles. His thoughts crowded in on hers, short and barely coherent just like the last times, a myriad of want. need. mine. prove it. mine. now. repeated over and over, a primitive mantra of possession.

She reached out with both hands, using one to still his on his belt and the other to brush over his temple lightly. He stilled at the contact, letting her guide his hands away from the clasp back to her body and accepting the brush of her calming thoughts against his. He rested his head momentarily on her hip before crawling up her body to kiss her once more.

“I’m sorry,” he said, frustrated at his own shortcomings again.

“S’okay, Doctor,” she responded, ghosting light fingers over his jaw. “You don’t ever have to apologize for wanting me. I want you, too. But we can work through this, yeah?” He leaned into her touch and then turned his head to kiss her palm. 

He let one hand trail over her ribcage to settle under her breast and the other made small circles on her thigh. He wasn’t inside her, but he needed to be touching her. He wanted to be touching all of her. Why were his trousers still on?

She raked her fingers over his scalp and he groaned, tightening both hands on their respective prizes, making Rose moan as well. Her hands traveled down his spine onto his fabulous arse with a squeeze, making him ripple and surge forward against her, pressing her down into the bed. He growled and moved against her again, desperate for the friction between their bodies. Her hands moved up and around onto his chest, pushing him lightly until he gave in and flipped over, pulling her on top of him, keeping their hips aligned so he could push forward against her again, shifting and rippling against the too-tight fabric of his pants and jeans. It wasn’t enough. Someone could come and take her. She wasn’t his like this. He needed to be inside her. With her sitting on top of him like that he couldn’t get to his belt buckle so he settled for pushing two fingers past the elastic of her knickers deeply into her, eliciting a surprised gasp.

“There’s nobody else here,” she said, slowly, drifting her hands through the sparse hair on his chest and tangling in the dark line that led into his troublesome trousers, moving lightly against his hand and tightening as he moved those fingers as deep inside her as he could at this angle. ‘“Even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. There won’t ever been anyone else. It’s just you and me.”

“Good,” he growled at her, twisting his hand to make her gasp again. In response she moved her hands from his stomach to his belt and he found himself divested of his jeans and briefs nearly as quickly as she had been, even if his hand was now bereft of her. Her knickers quickly followed and he shuddered, trying to keep himself from plunging into her directly. It was nearly impossible not to, with her giving off all those pheromones and then, oh Rassilon, touching him like that. She encircled him with one hand, moving up and down in time with his rippling and if he had been hard before, it was nothing compared to now.

Rose bent her head and made a move as if she was going to take him in her mouth but he raised the hand which had been formerly fisting in the sheet during her ministrations to her chin. “Not this time. Can’t take it,” he said. Later, he’d like that, like to let her make him lose control, to claim her mouth as he fully intended to claim her body but not now.

She looked up at him and nodded, crawling up his side and pulling one of his arms around her, taking him onto his side with her so they laid with her back against his chest. He made a surprised noise...surely she didn’t want to go to sleep now? but all thoughts of sleep were quickly blown away as she pushed her bum back against him, a move he met automatically with his hips. Before he could question her, she was reaching back to grasp him and lifted her leg to wrap around his, pushing him into her heat unexpectedly. They both cried out at the sudden change, fire meeting ice, steel meeting smooth, slick walls. He rippled and she pushed back against him.

He understood why she had chosen this position. She was so tight he couldn’t move too fast and, Omega, was he deep. He was back to murmuring to her in Gallifreyan and she was offering her own encouragements. Soon he gave up his words and focused on re-marking her neck, biting and sucking at the already slightly purpled skin there as he let his biology take care of the rest. 

Rose hadn’t thought it was possible to be any more filled with him than she already had been but his new size made this a heady experience. With each pulse and surge, he hit places in her she didn’t know she had, so when he reached around her body, one arm under her to tweak her nipple and the other over her hip to circle her sensitized clit, she came in moments.

Groaning with her as she tensed around him, even tighter than before he wanted desperately to be able to thrust into her harder but it was impossible at this angle. Once she stopped shuddering around him, he shifted his hand to her hip, trying to bring her back against him harder but he only cursed with irritation. He could never finish like this. 

She sensed his frustration and turned her head over to look back at him, met with a fierce kiss as the Doctor tried to dispel some of the pent up tension that he couldn’t release elsewhere. “It’s ok,” she whispered and with that, he broke.

He pulled out from her and made an inhuman noise as the cool air hit him, devoid of her heat, and he rippled desperately, as if he was trying to find completion in her separate from the rest of him. Rose rolled over onto her hands and knees, grabbing the headboard and he yelled and immediately drove into her, claiming her with his words and his body, pushing into her forcefully, fast and driving. He set a ferocious pace, bringing his hands to her hips and pulling her back against him with each plunge and ripple until he shouted for her and came long and hard, their link blazing white hot between the two of them before he collapsed on top of her, spent. 

It was a few minutes before he realized he should probably move this heavier, more dense body off of her and so, with a gentle kiss to the spot he had marked her, he rolled over to his side. She immediately turned around, settling into his arms with her head in the crook of his shoulder, a different fit but still most definitely a fit, pressing a kiss into his chest.

“I love you, Theta Sigma,” she whispered and he felt the tingling full body shiver riot through his body again. Perhaps if it dropped from her lips enough times, it would erase the taunts of his youth. He tightened his arms around her and they were silent for a few more minutes, reveling in the afterglow.

“Thank you for sharing that ceremony thing with me,” Rose said, finally, pushing up to rest her weight on her wrists and looking at him with an adorable sex-tousled expression.

“I’ll have you know, that this a highly unusual ending for it,” he responded, grinning wryly at her. “Been through that apology ceremony, oh, a thousand times and never once did this happen.”

“Good,” she grinned up at him cheekily.

He reached over to run his palm lightly up and down her arm, making her close her eyes momentarily in pleasure. “Thank you for helping me remember,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, one of the soul-searching gazes he had first experienced after she’d knocked him off his feet and onto his britches-covered bum. “You’re welcome,” she said.

“Thought of something else I’d forgotten that you helped me remember,” he replied.

“What’s that?” she asked sleepily, searching his face before settling back into the crook of his shoulder. He pulled his arm around her tightly and placed a kiss in her hair, inhaling deeply and taking in their mixed scents.

“How to be happy,” he whispered, feeling her warmth tingle out from both her body and her mind, enveloping him, protecting him and making him feel less alone...like he was home once again.


	8. Nine VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Rose to the beach. Sort of. And he discovers her joy, her marvel, her love and his jacket.
> 
> * One (probably) more chapter for Nine in what has truly been a labor of love for me. Then I'll only be able to revisit him in the Interludes.

He did not make the mistake of leaving her in bed alone this time, determined to stay with her as long as he could. She was going to leave him soon, he could tell and he didn’t want to let her go. Tentative tendrils of Time were starting to drift back into his mind and he’d been trying to ignore the way her departure shone at him, so close. It couldn’t be time yet.

He was propped up on his left side with Rose spooned back against him similar to how they had been a few short hours ago. His body was in full reaction to her proximity but he was satisfied at the moment to merely hold her close to him, his head buried in her neck, to appreciate the smell of him on her and the smell of her on him. She was so warm and he treasured that feeling, rejoicing in her human heat against his cool skin. Right now, he was relaxed enough that the raging torrent of his possessiveness merely hummed in the background. He might eventually either wake her or take care of himself to thoughts of her, but for now he merely enjoyed the light pressure of their hips together. He ran his hand lightly over her arm, watching as the hairs rose up to follow the path of his fingers and she sighed in her sleep, pushing back against him and shifting slightly.

He wanted to take her somewhere special, somewhere beautiful, somewhere he could forget just a little while longer. Not Coricana...too many memories there and he was no longer one for dressing up. They weren’t ready for the next step yet, either. It wasn’t time. And he was still more than a little frightened of measuring up to the man he had once been, the one who had managed to win her heart in just five days, the one who had romanced her with his wit and manners and gentle persona. And his cooking and dancing. And dancing. How this him was ever going to manage to win her in the first place, had ever managed to win her, he didn’t know. 

Outdoors, perhaps. Warm and sunny, an escape from the darkness, his darkness. Somewhere quiet and uninhabited...he didn’t want to share her with anyone else. He already had to share her with his past and future but for now, she was his, all his. Rose murmured in her sleep, perhaps in reaction to the sudden tightening of his arms around her or the unconscious stroke of his mind against hers and she shifted over so she was lying with her face pressed against his chest, breath ghosting over his nipple, hardening it and the rest of him immediately. She moaned in her sleep and he smiled. Must be a good dream then, he thought, the sudden scent of her arousal surrounding him.

One of her legs worked its way between his and he moaned slightly into her hair at the change in pressure, wondering momentarily how she would feel about waking up mid-shag. He never found out though, as he heard her breathing shift and then felt warm, wandering lips move gently across his torso. “Morning,” she said blearily into his shoulder, letting her wander take her up his collarbone and over his jaw until intense blue eyes met sleepy hazel ones.

“TARDIS, Rose. No morning or evening,” he teased and her lips curved into a sleepy smile. Oh, she had heard that before. Usually when he, either of him, had come charging into her room at some ungodly hour unable to wait any longer for her to wake up, and usually finding himself chased out by a raging Tyler and the accompanying flying objects, pillows if he was lucky.

“Mmm....if there’s no morning, what’s this about then?” she asked, her voice filled with sleepy sensuality and letting her hand drift across his hip bones and then further in, causing him to hiss and press his eyes shut.

“You know what it’s about,” he growled, pressing her back and looming over her, held up by his forearms, letting his controlled, relaxed atmosphere fade away, feeling her wet and wanting below him. Must have been a good dream, indeed.

“Better prove it,” she murmured, desire replacing the sleep in her eyes. He hooked one knee over his arm and pushed it back against her body, entering her fluidly accompanied with his fluent Gallifreyan swearing. The night before had been good for him, he was careful to be a little more gentle, to reign in his desperate need. Perhaps not the gentleman he had once been but no longer the predatory animal either. He made sure she found her release first before hooking the other knee over his arm as well and furiously finding his own, calling out to her and telling her that she was his in the silvery tones of his tongue.

He collapsed beside her and swore again. “You’re so flexible,” he murmured appreciatively, taking her earlobe into his teeth.

“Jericho Street Junior School Under 7’s gymnastics team,” Rose panted to him, her mouth curving into a secret smile. This wasn’t the only time he’d thank her for that. 

“That’s a mouthful, that is,” he said, pulling back to look her in the eye. “Anyway, thank Rassilon for gymnastics.”

“Actually, you should thank my mum. She’s the one that made me keep it up all those years,” Rose said, grinning up at him. 

“Doubt Jackie would approve of this use of your talents,” he said, letting his tongue roam lazily over her collarbone. He’d met the woman several times, all of them in the parallel world so far, but he got the feeling past Jackie Tyler had not been and would not be overly fond of him and his deep seated attraction to her daughter.

Rose snorted and sat up beside him. “That’s true. Although it is good to know that you actually do deserve that slap,” she said thoughtfully, swinging her legs off the bed. Apparently crossed timelines and forgotten memories were no match for a mother’s protective intuition. 

Momentarily distracted by the full sight of naked Rose Tyler, her words didn’t register immediately. “Wait, what? You mean your mum is going to slap me? Why?” he asked, standing up on his side of the bed and, with a flush of male pride, noticing that Rose seemed momentarily distracted as well. “No one’s mother has ever slapped me.”

“She thought you were a dirty old man shagging her only daughter,” Rose replied, tongue in her teeth. 

“And I’m not? I won’t be?” he asked quietly, suddenly serious.

“Old, yes,” she teased before letting the smile drop. “Shagging, no,” Rose replied wistfully. “You won’t.”

They stared at each other momentarily across the wide expanse of his bed before Rose bent to pick up her errant clothing and he did the same. “So, where are we headed today?” Rose asked, finding her knickers first and his jumper next and pulling them both on. He raised his head from retrieving her slightly battered blouse and his breath caught as he took her in once again. The jumper, a deep purple one she’d never seen before, came down about mid-thigh and the v-neck dipped tantalizingly low. Her hands were dwarfed in the long sleeves and he was fairly certain he had never seen anything quite so alluring. His first thought was immediately to screw his travel plans and toss her back down on the bed.

She snickered and raised an eyebrow at him, his unclothed state hiding nothing of the immediate effect she had just had on him. “Doctor? Greatest ship in the universe?” The TARDIS hummed happily at her compliment. “All of time and space to see?” she said, tossing him his trousers.

“Right,” he said, closing his eyes and clamping down on his arousal. “Dress for outdoors, warm and sunny. Beach-ware,” he said. A bikini, I hope, he thought. “Oh, and Rose?” he called as she lit up and trotted down the hallway barefoot. 

“Yeah?” she asked.

“You can keep that jumper,” he said and was rewarded with a brilliant flash of white teeth and a pink tongue.  
________________________________________________________________________________________

Rose was back in what she had decided was “her” room for the time being. Knowing the TARDIS, it was very possible that this was, in fact, her room or at least would be her room. It had the same wooden headboard and dresser although its homey pink interior and her scattered belongings had yet to appear. Right now, it merely contained her red pack and, in the cupboard, the shopping bag with his leather jacket.

She walked over to the cupboard next to the door, the one pan-dimensionally attached to the wardrobe room as the Doctor had very delightedly explained to her on her first night on the TARDIS, and wondered what the TARDIS had picked out for her to wear. 

A beach, huh? She hoped it would be the beautiful little purple bikini the TARDIS had given her to wear once on an abandoned pleasure planet where the next version of him had taken her in a placating gesture after he’d accidentally sold her into a king’s harem and then taken two weeks to rescue her. Lucky for her (and for the planet once the Doctor had found out), the king had been more a man of bluster and wandering hands than a man of real action so she had gotten away with little more than a few bruises and damaged pride.

She opened the door, expecting lycra, gauzy sarongs and perhaps a cute sun hat and was met instead with long underwear, lined trousers, thick sweaters, a cute white parka and a purple hat. Frowning, she closed the door and opened it again, to be met with the same assortment of clothing, except the sweaters were a new array of colours.

Poking her head back out of the cupboard, she laid a hand on the slightly warm wall beside it. “What’s the matter, girl? Does he need to fix a circuit for you? Or are you trying to tell me something?” she murmured out loud and in her mind, reaching out to the golden presence that was the TARDIS. She received back a flood of green and blue along with the feeling that the ship was well, thank you for asking, and then a wave of sympathy followed by a prod to put on the warm clothes.

Ah. So they weren’t at the beach, then. Quite the opposite, apparently. That was not going to make him happy, she thought, picking out some of the clothes and traipsing off to the shower.

Meanwhile, the Doctor set their course and hummed to himself. He hadn’t been here in ages! And it was perfect. Beautiful, sunny beach, calm water during the day and beautiful, blue waves: a perfect spectacle for a private rendezvous to prove to her he could be a witty, gentle romantic, too. A place so bright and sunny even he could set aside his darkness. They could lay on a blanket, soak up sun together, he could admire her in the delicious small bikini he’d asked the TARDIS to give her to wear (purple, like his jumper) and then he could admire delicious Rose in other ways. Make love to her in the sand. Well, maybe not in the sand. That would be uncomfortable. On the blanket, then. Bracing his feet for the landing, the Doctor smiled to himself. He was brilliant, after all. He bounded to the doors, threw them open and stepped out into his gift for Rose.

Rose was immediately glad for her warm clothes as she stepped into the remarkably chilly console room. She frowned when she noticed that he’d left the door open and quickly made her way to the viewscreen monitor. Her breath caught when she recognized the landscape stretching out all around his stiff, unmoving silhouette. Woman Wept.

She adjusted the weight of his leather jacket over her arm and went out to meet him, shutting the door carefully behind her. He didn’t turn to face her even though she knew he had heard. For a few long moments, they simply stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the expanse of wild, frozen sea, one lost in thought and darkness, the other in memories and light. 

The Doctor’s harsh blue eyes swept over the untamed ocean, feeling guilt and grief in his very bones. Even with his damaged Time sense, he could see the ripple of the Time War that had shuddered out from its Gallifreyan epicenter to reach even here, throwing the sea into chaos and wiping out the sun. A peaceful, harmless, beautiful planet now frozen forever as a ferocious, desolate wasteland, another victim of the Time War. Another victim of the Doctor. 

Somewhere in his magnificent brain it had registered a few moments ago that Rose had joined him but he had been so caught in his grief he had not acknowledged her and, bless her, she had not disturbed him. Slowly, he turned his eyes to take her in. At least the TARDIS had seen to attire her properly. She was looking out over the waves much as he had been but the look on her face was entirely different. Caught in this moment unawares, he was able to study her closely, watch emotions and thoughts trace across her expressive face without the veil of worry that she was giving too much of his future away.

He caught marvel. How could she marvel at this horrid iceland, so far from what he’d intended?

He caught contentedness. How could she be content to be here? With him? With the wrong him, the broken one she had been forced to watch die at some point in his not-so-distant future?

He caught joy. Joy at what? At freezing her arse off? At being led to the complete opposite of the destination she had been delighted at the chance of seeing? 

And he caught love. Love that seemed to make her shine bright as a sun, so out of place in this world that had only darkness, because of him. Love that reflected memories he could almost see on the edge of her mind. Love for him.

He shivered. At the love. At belonging to someone so much smaller and yet so much greater than himself.

And at the cold. Damn, was it cold.

Sensing his intent gaze and seeing his shiver, Rose slowly turned her eyes up to meet his, smiling at him gently. “Here,” she said softly, holding up a battered leather jacket for him to put on, one arm at a time. He slipped into it without question, feeling its weight settle on his shoulders, protecting him, enveloping him, washing over him. She ran her hand up to the collar, adjusting it, then down the lapels, caressing it and so, caressing him. They both sighed and for just a moment, he forgot the planet, forgot the grief and the guilt, forgot everything except the human and the jacket and her incredible love. Her love in the form of that jacket, protecting him, enveloping him, washing warmth and love over and through him into the depths of his very soul.

He hadn’t felt complete in the wardrobe room. He did now.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, pressing her close as her arms went under the jacket to cling to his jumper-clad back.

Eventually the pressure of his arms lifted and she moved to stand beside him, shucking a glove in favour of intertwining their fingers in the pocket of his coat as his audacious Eighth body had done in zeppelin-filled London. Pockets which were currently the same size on the inside as on the out. He’d have to do something about that.

“Woman Wept,” he said, his breath fogging up the air around them, puffing slightly.

“I know,” she said softly.

“I bring you here?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended. “On purpose?” Even after he knew what a horrible frozen place it was now? Or since he had to forget this (and his stomach twisted unpleasantly at that unwelcome thought) was he doomed to repeat this same mistake again? Try to give her warmth only to force upon her ice?

“You do,” she said kindly, not raising to the harshness of his voice. “To celebrate,” she said, dreamily, drifting into the small, secret smile she often did when remembering his future. 

Rose smiled to herself, remembering that conversation. Jack had been asked to be dropped off for a little jaunt on particularly shady pleasure planet that the Doctor wouldn’t even tell her the name of so he could ‘blow off a little steam’. He had sauntered out the door, telling them not to wait up and to come back for him in a few days, and then muttered something about the sexual tension on the TARDIS making him want to explode.

The Doctor had seemed unnaturally relieved when Jack was out the door and had started fidgeting nervously, hemming and hawing at her in a fashion which delighted but puzzled her. She hadn’t seen him this nervous since he’d asked her to slow dance with him in the aftermath of the Blitz once Jack had gone to bed. Like an awkward teenager on a first date, he’d ask her to go change and meet him in the console room in half an hour. She’d obeyed, curious at the this strange, unknown side of him. 

As they walked hand-in-hand-in-pocket beneath the magnificent waves of Woman Wept and he had regaled her with a fantastic fairytale of princesses and wastelands and beasts, he had eventually admitted to her, standing under the apex of a forty-meter sparkling wall of ice, that this morning he had realized it had been a human year since they’d met, a year since he’d saved her and she’d saved him, a year since his life had truly begun again.

And she had realized that she was completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with him.

Silently now, she walked hand-in-hand-in-pocket with him along the same pathways, under the stars and the ice, feeling his tortured emotions, his guilt and grief, his dislike of this place, his shame at failing her, his confusion as to why he’d bring her here to this place in the future for such any important moment. Without words, she tentatively dropped her shields and brushed lightly against his mind. He stopped for a second and she heard the intake of his breath. 

The Doctor froze as he felt Rose drop her shields beside him, still walking calmly with him under the massive waves. She didn’t push to be his mind, merely beckoning him forward and, hesitatingly, he stepped forward across the boundaries of her mind.

Rose gently let him see the planet through her eyes, through her perceptions and he was once again taken aback at the breadth of her marvel, her contentedness, her joy. Through her, the imposing, bleak landscape of the waves gave way to a sparkling, majestic tableau, the oppressive darkness became thrilling beauty, the freezing temperature became exhilarating. His breath caught and he stepped back from her mind, staring at her in stunned silence once again. This and her encompassing love must be her true gift to him. To let him see the universe through her compassionate, awe-filled eyes. He would show it all to her...every atom of every creature, every planet, every star if only she would let him live vicariously through her marvel, to share even a second in her joy.

They had come beneath the highest wave and Rose had tugged at him to a stop. He complied and she leaned into him, slipping her hands back underneath his jacket in a fashion he could quite get used to. “I love you,” she murmured into his chest, saying what she had wanted to say to him then and wishing that she had. She was getting a second chance now.

They stood in that same position for several minutes, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, his thumbs drawing patterns across her back through the parka. 

“What were we celebrating?” he asked, his voice rumbling his chest. She pulled back slightly from him to look him in the eye, moving her hands so they rested on his waist, still within the warm confines of his jacket. 

“Finding each other for the first time,” she said sincerely, looking into his eyes. Her first time, anyway.

“Oh, Rose,” he said, moving his hands to the sides of her face, his long fingers on her jawbone and his familiar, loving, callused palms against her cheeks. “I’m so glad we did,” he said.

“Me too,” she said.

The Doctor leaned forward, brushing against her mind and kissed her with all the sweetness, the charm and the romance of the man he used to be because he could see through her eyes that he was that man still. Taller, rougher around the edges, quicker to anger but still the same man. 

The one she loved. 

And the one who loved her.

And suddenly he knew without a shadow of a doubt that in originally bringing her here to this place he hadn’t been merely celebrating him finding her for the first (third) time.

He had been celebrating finding her again. 

It was time.


	9. Nine IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter and the closing one(s) that follow were worth the wait. Oh, Nine. So hard to say goodbye. I should probably warn you that this chapter contains a shameless amount of smut. =)

They walked in silence back to TARDIS, her glove-less hand encased deeply in his jacket pocket and surrounded by his long, calloused fingers. He seemed to be lost in thought and she didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, she turned her head subtly to the side to watch him as she always had. His jaw was set, as if he’d decided on something that particularly pained him but would have to happen. His beautiful blue eyes were focused and far-reaching, as though he was contemplating heavy thoughts on the future and their place within it. His grip on her hand was tight and unforgiving as it used to be after they’d had a particularly close call, when he thought he’d lost her or she him. 

So, a decision that pained him, thoughts of their future and the desperation of losing her...oh.

It was time, then.

When they reached the top of the ramp in the TARDIS, he turned to her and reluctantly disengaged his fingers from hers. He opened his mouth to say something and then abruptly turned away.

“You’ll be wanting t’get out of those clothes, I reckon,” he said, moving quickly from her side toward the console. “Have to be a bit warm now that we’re inside. I’ve got to make some recalibrations to the TARDIS so don’t mind me. Just going under the console to work,” he said, brusquely, disappearing under the console quickly without a look back. And there he was, legs and boots sticking haphazardly out of the hole in the floor, screwdriver buzzing, painfully familiar and already the man Rose knew he would become.

Not knowing what to do or say to him at the moment and, in fact, feeling a bit warm, she left the room to put on some different clothes. She settled on jeans and a tshirt from her red pack and then set about stashing away all the belongings that had managed to crawl out from there during her time with this him. 

A very large part of her didn’t want to let him go. How could he possibly be ready when she didn’t feel ready herself? Never mind that he was the same man...she knew that, accepted it, loved him, all of him. But this him...

Broken and wounded and oh so vulnerable. Tears came to her eyes as she thought about him when they’d first met, gruff and argumentative and perfectly baffling. She’d been entranced, had known he was something deep and special, unlike anyone she’d ever met or would ever meet and yet so familiar. She’d started falling in love with him then, she’d decided later, when he’d taken her hand and spoken to her of planets and rotations and things she couldn’t possibly understand, fallen harder when she’d seen the utterly daft grin on his face as she pointed out to him that he wasn’t always the most clever being in the universe, fallen even more at the utterly lonely look on his face when she’d said no the first time, held back by her fears and perceived responsibilities. 

And when he’d returned for her and...well, she’d be a goner already.

She quietly walked back out to the console room, trailing her pack behind her, setting it on the floor and settling above it on her customary jumpseat perch. She watched him work in silence, a familiar pastime for her if not for him, listening to the soothing buzz of the screwdriver and the ultimately familiar sound of his soft, Northern, musical cursing. She then closed her eyes and let her immense love for him wash over her and around them. Love for this body, his last and his next one, love for his faults and shortcomings, an all encompassing simply for him. After a few moments, she realized that both the buzzing and the cursing had stopped and she opened her eyes to see him standing right in front of her, tears in his utterly beautiful, piercing blue eyes. 

“How can you possibly love me like that?” he asked softly, reaching out and almost but not quite touching her face, as if he was afraid if he did she would melt away.

“Because you’re you,” she said, simply, reaching out to run a hand over his strong jawline. 

He closed his eyes at her touch. “I have to take you back,” he said, the words pulled from him with great pain.

“I know,” she said, quietly because she did know. As much as she knew his pain. “But not yet,” she said, leaning forward to tenderly capture his lips with her own.

Pulling back from her lips just enough that his words and soft breath fell on them, he agreed, “But not yet,” sweeping her up in his strong arms and carrying her toward his room. It wasn’t their room, not yet...wouldn’t be for at least a lifetime and a half, but it would be. Eventually. He would make sure of it.

Rose’s arms clutched him around his neck, sliding against the smooth leather as she pressed kisses along his jaw. When they finally arrived at his bed, he sat her down gently and stepped away, admiring her there, burning the image as brightly as his Eighth body had burned the one of her coming down the staircase in her beautiful dress. He started to shrug the jacket off his shoulders but a small warm hand stopped him, pulling the lapels back together.

“Let me?” she asked, rising up on her knees on the bed and he nodded because, really, he could deny her nothing. 

Her eyes darkened as she slowly helped the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, following its descent with hungry fingers. When it finally hit the ground heavily behind him, he was nearly overpowered by the wave of arousal that swept through Rose.

“Been wanting to do that for a while?” he asked huskily, pulling her against him to feel the brilliant friction of her body on his, clothed as they still were.

“You have no idea,” she said, tugging him down by his ears for a fierce kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, trying to prove to him just that. She had always wanted him. She would always want him. He barely had time to react to the sudden onslaught of her lips on his when she tore her mouth away to trace down his neck, nipping at his Adam’s apple and sucking on his double pulse point. It was a slightly more vicious nip to the tender flesh between his shoulder and neck that broke him, making him growl just as viciously at her and pinning her to the bed beneath him, his long, lean body pressing into hers at every point he could possibly make it. He returned the torture, his hands and mouth seeking every bit of her they could reach, questing up under her shirt for her breasts, pinching and pulling as she writhed beneath him, moaning in frustration at the garments she wore.

Her hands were under his jumper and undershirt just as quickly, nails dragging down his spine and causing him to grind his hips down into hers. One swift movement later she had his jeans unclasped and was tugging his steel erection free before he’d even managed to gasp her name. Her hand around him was sure and tight, circling and squeezing him like a woman who knew her property. He moaned and pressed forward into her grip, a quick punishing stroke he imagined he would be using a lot into his own hand in this life, frustrated by the temptation of her but never fated to give in.

She moved the wrist again, this time in a brilliant circular motion he didn’t know he liked until her hot hand had done it and he cried out again, rippling harsly, cursing her, praising her, wanting her. “Rose,” he moaned, somehow striving for control even as his rippling penis sought completion without his mind. “Slow,” he panted. “You said you wanted slow -”

“Fuck what I said, Doctor,” she growled, reaching her other hand up to drag her fingernails over his scalp and then wickedly adding his filthy Gallifreyan curse. He cried out, long and loud and then dragged her jeans and knickers as far down as he needed to drive into her, the heady rush of this hurried connection driving him mad.

Her hand still encircling him positioned him at her already dripping entrance and he needed no further invitation to surge forward to meet her upward thrusted hips. He pounded into her again and again, gripping the headboard behind her for leverage and she met him each time with a thrust of her own. He was rippling almost constantly already and he brought his free hand between them to help her when she fiercely said, “No,” shifting her hips so his throbbing, pulsing shaft was rubbing against her clit with every push.

She was crying out, alternating between breathy pants and high pitched screams and he was desperately trying to hold back the torrent of his release as his own sounds, grunts and growls of pleasure and words of claim in a language she would never speak spilled forth from his lips even as he tried to keep from spilling forth into her. “Look at me,” she commanded, meshing their fingers together, his right and her left, and he did, looking deep into her eyes, seeing her immense love and reflecting it with his own and together they crashed violently over the edge, gasping each other’s names.

Several minutes later, he raised his head from her neck, pushing up onto his forearms to look her in the eyes.

“Rose, I - that was, I mean, it was bloody -”

“Fantastic,” she said, with a secret smile on her face.

“Yeah," he breathed, lowering his mouth to her neck to lick some of the sweat there off. “Bloody fantastic,” he repeated, liking the way that felt in his mouth almost as much as he liked the taste of her on his tongue. 

“I could do this all day, you know,” he said, reaching down to pull her shirt over her head and her bra off so they wouldn’t be in the way of his wandering tongue. “I could taste and lick and suck everything in the whole universe and I’d never find what I wanted until I could taste you again,” he murmured against the curve of her breast and, to his surprise, Rose giggled. 

“What?” he asked petulantly, raising his head to look up at her and looking so deliciously disheveled from their impetuous coupling, his clothes still almost entirely on and his only slightly softened shaft still deep inside her.

“Nothing,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and massaging behind his ears, smirking again as he immediately hardened the rest of the way inside her.

“Kit off?” he murmured to her, nudging her hand with his head so she would keep massaging that spot. Much as he didn’t want to leave her body, the oppressing cling of his clothes and the dangerous teeth of his zip weren’t very comfortable for him and, he couldn’t imagine, for her.

“Mmm....fine,” she mumbled, sleepily, reluctantly removing her hands from his head and groaning with him as he slipped free from her. Rose lifted her hips from the bed to help him remove her jeans and knickers the rest of the way and then propped her head up to appreciatively watch him remove the rest of his clothing. It was the sight of him, proudly and unabashedly standing in front of her, naked and magnificently aroused once again that lit another fire in her and caused her to slide off the bed onto her knees in front of him.

“Rose?” he started to ask, but she pushed him gently back until he was sitting on the very edge of the bed. His hands fell to her shoulders, running up and down her arms and into her hair and then back down. “You don’t have to -”

“Hush,” she said, lightly skimming her fingertips over his thighs and watching as his eyes fell shut. She had him, this him, for now and she was damn well going to live out all her nineteen year-old fantasies on him before moving on to relive the twenty through twenty-five year old ones on the next him.

She heard him chuckle darkly and felt him move his hands lightly to the back of her head. Good. She hoped he’d heard that. Just for good measure, she thought up a few of those next fantasies and pushed them his direction, enjoying his gasp although it may have been helped along by her running a thumbnail along the wide vein that ran up his length. He rippled and shuddered in her hand as that thumb traced across the tip, gathering the moisture there and using it to help the descent of her hand down his shaft. He muttered something she didn’t understand and then repeated it again as her other hand came up to cup his testicles, massaging lightly as she remembered his last body liking. 

She leaned in closer and chanced a look up at him, finding him watching her with huge, dark eyes. Keeping his eye contact she reached just the tip of her tongue out to swipe over the head and held the contact as she swirled that tongue around, taking more and more of him into her mouth until he finally squeezed his eyes shut and groaned her name. She rewarded his groan by relaxing her throat and pushing forward suddenly until he hit the back. He sputtered more incoherent words of encouragement and she felt his thighs tense under her hands, trying his hardest not to thrust into her mouth even as his rippling began in earnest. She pulled back almost all the way, keeping just the tip of him in her mouth and using her tongue to circle him more until he writhed under her touch. “Rose,” he panted once.

She began to take him into her mouth and work him in earnest then. He didn’t need to beg her. She’d give this freely. It was, after all, her fantasy. She loved the taste of him in her mouth, the alien rippling feeling, the thrumming of his pleasure against her mind even behind his tight shields. He couldn’t believe that she would do this for him, that she had ever fantasized about it, especially with this body. It felt so primitive and, if he was honest with himself, so fucking good to claim her mouth like this, to know that she would never again touch any man except him like this. He wanted to let go. He wanted to fill her mouth with him. Then he wanted to pull her up his body and kiss her, taste himself on her and then drive into her heat and fill her with his seed again.

Rose could feel him getting closer, the fight to keep his hips still growing more desperate, the rippling in her mouth growing more constant but he wasn’t there yet. She had tried nearly every trick she knew and he hadn’t come yet, just strained against her, offering his melodious words of praise. Her hands on his thighs tightened and she felt him almost break. And so, with one last full plunge down his steel shaft, she raked her fingernails across his bare thighs and with that his hands in her hair tightened and he exploded in her mouth, sending his cool seed down her throat again and again. She took everything he had to offer and then licked him clean, amazed to see him growing half-hard again at her ministrations. 

“Insatiable, you are,” she murmured, pressing a kiss against his inner thigh. He groaned once more and pulled her up his body, rolling them so she was pressed into his side, kissing her and reveling in their mixed tastes. He released her only when Rose turned her head slightly from his to yawn and he chuckled slightly. Raising a hand to the side of her face, he caressed her cheek bone. 

“Sleep, Rose,” he said, kissing her lightly and then firmly tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

“But - “ she started to complain.

“Later,” he said and she drifted off to sleep against his chest. “Later, my love,” he whispered once he was sure she was asleep and couldn’t hear him. He didn’t leave her at all that night, but kept her pressed into his side, memorizing the warmth of her body, the comforting jangle of her thoughts against his own and the smell of them together on his sheets.

When she woke up six hours, fifty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, he made love to her again, slow and languorous, with all the speed of a man with all the time in the world. 

For now, he did his best to show her of all the things she meant to him, all the things she had done for him and all the things he was sure she would do for him. With every push, every gasp, he endeavored to show her how she had saved him, how she would save him. 

When she came it was with words of love on her lips and when he did, it was not, not yet. Her shining hazel eyes searched his own and saw the truth behind them. 

She knew.

Those words weren’t his to give to her, not yet anyway. His next body, the one who had loved and lost her, who had abandoned her and later paid the price, would tell her, would say the words he wished he could.

For now, all he could say was goodbye.


	10. Nine X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Nine's time with Shades of Blue. I'll revisit him in the Interludes at least once more for the ID-stealing scene and perhaps for a fantasy or two. Hopefully you've enjoyed his story with Rose and I gave him a send-off you appreciated. The next installment of Shades of Blue will begin shortly. I really appreciate the reviews and words of encouragement! Stick around!
> 
> I am planning on starting a new Nine story called "Healing and the Human Heart" if you, like me, can't get enough of our favourite brooding alien.

“That really is future you, right? I’m not going to pop in there and find some strange past version of you that I have to explain myself to all over again?” Rose asked. She didn’t think she could handle another experience like this one or having to explain who she was and what he meant to her. Plus, with her track record, she’d probably fall in love again and end up shagging him. Even if they were the same man, shagging two different bodies in less than a month felt strange (especially after five years of celibacy). Of course, very shortly she was hoping to add a third to that list, she thought cheekily.

“Yes, that’s really future me,” he said, looking apologetic. She had forgiven him for bringing her here instead of taking her where he was supposed to but he still felt guilty over it. This body was remarkably adept at guilt.

“Hey, none of that. I understand why you did it. I’m glad you did. Really, really glad,” she added, pulling him into a tight hug. She was glad to have helped him become the man of his future and hers and glad to have stolen another few days with this version.

“Go on then,” he said gruffly but not letting his arms loosen around her. “Get in there to ‘your’ Doctor.”

She pulled back a bit and looked him straight in the eye, that familiar look that he felt resonate through his soul. “You’re all my Doctor,” she said. He sighed and tightened his grip into one of the bone crushing hugs she remembered so dearly. She was trying desperately to memorize every sensation of him, the feel of the leather under her fingers, the way his body felt on hers, the circle of his arms around her, knowing that it would never feel quite like this again. God. How could she ever let him go? He sighed into her hair, perhaps doing the same thing.

They finally released the hug and she stepped back from him. He felt tears once again on his cheeks and saw them shining on hers as well. She reached up and wiped one away.

“Go and find me,” she said simply. He nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, knowing that it would be a long time before he would get to do it again. They locked eyes once more and she stepped out of the TARDIS doors and out of his life again...for the moment at least. 

She turned back to face him once last time. “I love you,” she said, before turning away, before she could look into his brilliant eyes for one moment too long and never be able to let go.

He felt the memory of her fade to the background of his mind, hiding itself away from him even as he scrabbled to hold on, watching her walk out of sight, getting lost in the crowds of this busy planet. He closed his eyes momentarily and then she, and the memories, were gone.

He turned from the doors and reached up to touch his cheek. It was damp. Why had he been crying? Memories of the Time War threatened to crash in on him but his shields held. They were stronger than he thought they should be since he had just regenerated and patched up a bit oddly. He was also wearing new clothes. That was odd. He had no memory of picking out this outfit but it was certainly him. He adjusted the leather jacket around his shoulders and felt a warmth settle through his body, protection certainly and...happiness almost. Before he could dwell on that too long, however, the cloister bell rang. 

Invasion on Earth, 21st Century London. Honestly, couldn’t those apes stay out of trouble even for a few years? All of Time and Space to knock about and he was constantly running back to Earth, saving that little blue green planet as he had so many others in the past, preserving timelines, duty of the Time Lords. He considered that thought. Duty of the Time Lord. It was all up to him now. He was the only one left. The emptiness of his mind was only outweighed by the emptiness of his soul. He was alone, so alone. What was the point, really?

His mind threatened to retreat into darkness but something pulled at him, protecting him, telling him that he had to be more than the Destroyer. He had to be the Defender. Time’s Champion. His own personal demons would have to wait in line.

To his great surprise, the controls were already set for the right time and location. How did that happen? And how did the console room get to looking like this? Everything had been fire and burning and death when his last life had ended. The TARDIS hummed at him and told him not to worry about it and, strangely enough, he agreed. 

That was curious...and something else. He searched for a word.

Fantastic. 

That would do.

Off for new adventure, then. Off to London.  
______________________________________________________________________________

She had said no. The Doctor stared at the closed door sadly. He had felt so connected to her. A little human shop girl. It was the first time since before the War he had felt like reaching out to someone. The first time he had felt anything other than alone, with her hot little hand in his. She felt so familiar, so right . 

Without any intent or motivation, he automatically wandered around the console and jerked them back into the Vortex. 

Bereft of her warm hand, he was alone, drifting in the universe again and he felt so lost he could barely breathe, respiratory bypass or not. It was no less than he deserved. What had he been thinking? He was no champion, no defender. Alone, rejected for all of eternity for the 'thing', the monster he was. That idiot boy had been right.

A thought, a hazy memory drifted forward from some unknown place in his mind. 

A golden voice, a voice that made him think of stars and dancing and soft grass and running, that rang with laughter and love echoed through his brain. “Sometimes all you have to do is ask a second time.” 

A persistent little blaze of hope shot through him. Oh! He’d forgotten the most important bit!

Suddenly he grinned to himself, a daft mad grin of manic proportions, spun back to the console and adjusted the settings to go back immediately after he had left. A second time, a second chance. He was that sort of man. He wrenched open the doors and asked again.

And, just like that, Rose Tyler ran into his life for the first (or the third) time. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile...

Rose settled her red pack deeper on her shoulders and turned square to face the second TARDIS sitting proudly across the square of this busy little alien planet. Valiantly, she did not turn back to face the imposing silhouette of the TARDIS behind her, encasing her first Doctor and all the wonderful, mad, daft things he represented.

Dashing a hand across her cheeks to wipe away the tears, she turned her head from side to side for a distraction. Shops! There were shops everywhere. Well that was brilliant. She would certainly like exploring this planet. 

Well...she would like exploring this planet with the Doctor once she had finished shagging him senseless.

She took another deep breath, fitted her key in the lock and pulled open the blue wooden door. Then there was a gasp followed very quickly by a groan. 

“Oh bloody hell,” she muttered. “Not again.”


End file.
